To Chance Upon a Spanish Pearl
by Nals
Summary: His entire life has gone wrong, from his family, to his friends, to himself; it was like he was plunged into the dark depths of the sea. What he may need now may be the only thing that can lead him into the light, reflecting the dim light in its silver luster. Perhaps he needed a beautiful Spanish pearl to glisten even in the faint light. Contains suggestions
1. Chapter 1

_Alright, this idea has been bugging me since I noticed how stupid the first TCUASP seemed. ^-^"_

_The first part may be a little wrong; I'll get back to that when I can._

* * *

_**To Chance Upon a Spanish Pearl  
**__**Chapter One**_

_I love you._

A phrase he'd heard so much of, a sentence he'd come to consider casual, even menacing and one to cause trauma. It was supposed to mean so much, a confession of the greatest intangible thing a car could give. But instead, the words had been marred with mistakes and hurtful memories, and he couldn't trust himself to say them ever again, to his family, his friends, to himself.

He'd committed so much in his life, good and bad things alike. Both had left a lot of memories, but the bad weighed heavier than the good. He felt like the shell of his former self: a once-good boy turned bad, and he didn't know himself anymore. He believed there wouldn't be anyone for him out there, and that there never would be. He didn't have help; he didn't need help. But a small part of him would always wish he had someone. But in his life, there wasn't anyone who would stand by him, so why should there be in the future?

Nobody considered him as Miguel Rodrigo Camino anymore; he was _the _Miguel Camino, Spain's greatest Grand Touring race car and one of the most lusted-over cats in motorsport history.

* * *

He was the second to the firstborn in the children of five, the older of twins. He had one older brother, and three younger sisters. His family was rich and well-off; there was no reason for him to be sad. But was that really true?

"_Rodrigo!_" his mother shrieked, and he dashed downstairs to find a broken vase. His mother's _favorite_ flower vase, no less. His mother, a refined touring car, glared at him with brown eyes. "Eugénia tells me you broke my favorite vase!"

He stared in panic. He hadn't been downstairs since breakfast. He'd been working on his project the entire morning.

"But I wasn't even here when it broke!" he told her. He hadn't learned enough of his mother tongue to speak so, and besides, his mother liked English and spoke it fluently.

But he knew he wasn't going to escape that easily. Anything of Sofìa's wasn't to be toyed with. And with his sister Eugénia Milagros staring at him with a sly smirk wasn't a good omen. His twin would do absolutely _anything_ to get back at him. And the only way to do that was by his mother's fury.

Unfortunately for him, his mother has always favored his sisters above him, showering them with love, affection, and things they wanted, provided they become proper ladies. "Really? Mercedes tells me you snuck to the kitchen for a snack."

"But I didn't even-"

She held up an empty can of soda with Miguel's tire marks on it. His eyes widened. That was the coke he'd finished yesterday afternoon!

He glared openly at Mercedes Adelaida, who copied her older sister's smile. He took note that their youngest, Mireia Adelina, was behind her, eyes wide with fear. Mercedes only winked, and he fumed. But there was no crossing his mother; that much was branded into his instincts.

"Rodrigo." He glanced at his mother again, and her eyes and voice was deadly calm, with only a hint of fury in them. "I have no choice but to take away your computer."

His eyes widened. "What!" he exclaimed. "But mother-"

"_Silencio!"_ she hissed at him, her glare back. He winced. She never used Spanish unless she was fuming. "_You will surrender that laptop of yours, right now!"_

He opened his mouth to reply, but he thought better of it. Once the order was given, he wasn't to do anything anymore. He bowed his front, and slunk upstairs to get the only thing that led him to the only place he could express himself. He handed it to his mother, who snatched it from his hold. She turned, front bumper up, and left for the masters' bedroom. Sofìa's leave revealed his sisters standing there.

He glared at Eugénia. "What was that for!" he spat.

"It's to get back at you for breaking my favorite porcelain doll," she told him. If she had arms, they would have been crossed. Her eyes glittered with contempt. "Now you know how it feels to have something taken away from you, don't you?"

"But you didn't have to break her favorite vase!" he retorted.

"It was the only way!" she called. "_Mother!_"

"What is it, Eugénia?" His mother was suddenly there, her voice worried.

Eugénia glanced once at Miguel before she spoke to her mother in a pitiful voice. "Rodrigo's bullying me!"

Sofìa glared at Miguel. "Haven't you done enough?" she spat at her son. "First it's my vase, and now Eugénia?" She shook in her rage. "Go to your room, and I will not see you out and/or downstairs today!" She narrowed her eyes. "Lunch and dinner will be sent up." She stared at him as Miguel's heart fell. "Go on," she prodded. His gaze hardened, and he turned to race upstairs. He slammed his door so hard it shook the window panes, and, after locking it, he crashed on his bed, wailing into his pillow.

It was unfair for his mother to be biased! It was unfair for him, because she cared more about Eugénia and Adelaida. He vowed then and there he wouldn't dare love his mother, or his sisters ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

_******Pancake: **Not necessarily a perfectionist; I just wanted to do a more, say, realistic yet Carsverse version of TCUASP. xD And I think I'll have to do other Carsverse versions of humanized stories and vice versa; the plots will be minor changes, and at least I have determined the other details(brithday, personality, etc). xDD_

_This is not only to **Mere**, but to **everyone else**: I started this fic this way so I can have the details shown to you. These are some parts that I may need to refer to someday; I'll fix them someday. xDD_

* * *

_**Chapter Two**_

Neatly clipped shrubbery. Trees that stretched towards the sky, their branches, thick with leaves, providing shade. A stream cut through the land, and bridges, ducks, swans and fish littered along its length. Birds built their nests in the trees and in the thick bushes. Butterflies fluttering in the sunlight. This was the vision of La Ontario Park.

It was the favorite place of the Caminos during lazy afternoons, weekends, and holidays. It was a place to relax, to have fun, or enjoy the tranquility of nature.

That day, the entire family had gone out for a picnic, and everyone was split to groups. The parents talked together. The two older sisters played, and Mireia joined in. It was like that for a while, until Eugénia went off by herself.

"Miguel, Miguel," Mireia called, nudging his older brother's side, "let's explore."

"Mireia, you know we can't—"

"_Por pabor_, Rodrigo," she pleaded with wide, green eyes.

He sighed resignedly. "Alright." Mireia squeaked in earnest, and Miguel shushed her. "If we're going to sneak away, you had better be quiet."

She shut her lips, biting them shut, and she nodded. He then led her away to the mini-maze of hedges. She stared in awe at the beautiful bushels of red Spanish roses in full bloom, at the white fountain, at the tall, neatly clipped walls of leaves and twigs.

Soon, they could hear the tweeting of birds, and Mireia peered into a bush.

"Look," she whispered, and they looked into a nest of chirping chicks. They stared at the brother and sister, then started chirping in panic.

"Come on," he murmured, "before the mother comes back."

She nodded, and they moved away. They quietly entered a 'room' adjacent to the first one when they crossed a hedge archway. There they found Eugénia kissing another car.

Miguel pushed Mireia back slightly before she could even comprehend what she saw. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"Let's go back," he said firmly, and his tone made her obey.

"_Mamá_," Miguel called out as the family came into view.

The sisters, their brother and their parents looked up. "Rodrigo, Mireia!" Sofía replied, almost angrily. "What have you been doing away from us?"

He shook his front. "It doesn't matter, _mamá_; you have to follow me!"

Sofía rolled her eyes, but followed. "Mireia, stay here."

"But—"

A glare from her mother silenced the youngest of the family, and Sofía turned to Miguel again. "What do you have to show me, Rodrigo?"

Miguel only smiled, called out "Tolomé?" as he beckoned to his brother, and turned to lead his mother and his brother to the hedge maze again. "Have you noticed Eugénia wasn't here?"

"Yes, and?"

To answer her question, he led her into the second room, where Eugénia was making out with a silver-bodied Alfa Romeo.

"Eugénia!" Sofía shrieked just as Tolomé appeared right beside Miguel.

The grand tourers turned, startled to see a fuming _Señora _Camino and two snickering Camino berothers. One look at her golden-painted brother with green eyes told her everything, but she cannot deny what her mother had seen.

"_Mamá_—"

"You are a young lady, Eugénia!" Sofía told her daughter. "This is unacceptable!"

"But mama—"

"You are forbidden to leave the home unnecessarily, and you will be fetched to and from school with your brothers!" Sofía declared.

"What!" Eugénia exclaimed, but Sofía had turned away.

Miguel and Bartolomé hid their smiling faces from their mother. "Take her home, and she never leaves your sight, do you understand?" Her tone was only stern. As Miguel and Bartolomé nodded, their mother turned to leave.

When she had gone out of earshot, Miguel and Bartolomé burst in laughter, staring at their younger sister, who fumed.

"Who told _Mamá_?" Eugénia snarled at them.

"Not me," Bartolomé said, and nudged his brother with his tire. "Nice going, Rodrigo!"

"Why?" Eugénia wailed at her older twin brother. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"because you took away a privilege of mine; about time you did, too!" he told her, his shout with triumph, anger and laughter.

"But..but I love Romeo," she murmured, and the Alfa Romeo touched his tire to hers.

"Yeah, yeah, and I love my laptop," Miguel shot back. "What's the difference?"

"Romeo is real!"

He blinked. "My laptop is as real as he is."

She shook in her anger. "Why take revenge on me, Rodrigo?"

"As if you wouldn't do that to me," he retorted.

"But I'm your sister!"

"And I'm your brother." He stared at her. "I don't know if you'll even be able to love anyone with the thinking, 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth'."

"Neither can you!" she shot back.

"That's why we're twins." He smirked at her. "Now come on; _Mamá _will flay me and Tolomé if we don't get back."


	3. Chapter 3

_Really now, **Mere**? xDD That's awesome, coming from you~**  
**_

_O.o Didn't see that coming, **Pancake**, thanks for the info; will fix. xD And I didn't know you were revengeful~ You a bad, bad Pancake. x3_

_Alright, I have absolutely no idea or info on the school, so anyone from the school, please correct! D8_

* * *

_**Chapter Three**_

Most cars in their school were road cars. It was uncommon to see a sports car. But it was relatively rare to see a Grand Touring car at the _Universidad de Navarra_.

Sixteen-year-old Miguel Rodrigo Camino strolled leisurely down the hall in his shiny new golden paint job. Everyone stared at him, and the girls he glanced at giggled. His two friends, Tercio and Benedicto, flanked him

He was one of the most popular boys at school. Nearly all the girls wanted him, and nearly all the boys envied his skill, finesse and intelligence. He was at the top of the school's social 'food' chain, the alpha male, and he knew it. Even if he reveled in the praise, he knew too much of it would, and could, kill him, figuratively. And also, he knew he couldn't play too much of the bad boy, and that meant keeping his conduct and his grades up.

He stopped by his locker, and his two friends lined up to his left. "We have English next, no?"

"You and Tercio, maybe," Benedicto replied beside him. "Then _we_ have Chem."

Miguel nodded, and fished for his books. That was when the alpha female of the school, Pearle, came by. He stopped to stare at her as she drove down the hall.

She was a grand Maserati GranTurismo, minus the usual black grill. Instead, the mark of Maserati lay on her hood, as a Mercedes-Benz would. She had bright blue eyes that resembled the deep blue sea, and her paint was of a beautiful off-white that resembled her name: a pearl. Her voice was a beautiful soprano. She wasn't necessarily Hispanic, hence her name, and was only an exchange student that followed her parents to Navarre. And whenever she smiled, the room would turn noticeably brighter. It was as if she was the angel that came down from heaven, granted by God.

He gaped at her, and all she ever granted him so far was a smirk. She opened her locker next to his, and swiftly fished out her English and Chemistry books. She slammed the metal panel shut, winked at him, and turned away.

"You have got to be the luckiest car in school," his other friend, Tercio, whispered. "Pearle hardly ever looks at anyone twice."

Miguel could only nod in reply as Pearle turned gracefully to drive down the hall. He barely remembered to close his locker and head for their English class.

"See you guys in Chem," Benedicto told them, and left for his mathematics class. Tercio and Miguel only nodded as they slipped into their English class.

The cars there weren't too quiet, but not too noisy, either. The two friends stared around, but the only seats available was one at the back, and one beside Pearle. The friends stared at each other, then scrambled for the seat to Pearle's side. But Tercio wasn't fast or strong enough, and Miguel got to the seat first.

"Good morning," he greeted, smiling at Pearle.

She giggled softly. "Good morning, Miguel."

Her sweet voice resonated in his ears and the sight of bright blue contrasted against off-white stunned him to silence. She looked down and away shyly, smiling slightly. Instantly, a worried feeling slid onto his chassis.

"Don't stare at me like that," she chided sheepishly.

His face relaxed to a smile. "But I like staring at you like that," he crooned.

She giggled, and nudged her tire to his. "Stop it."

He only smiled as the teacher stepped in.

* * *

It was a few weeks later when one day, Pearle came in with a new, jeweled rim and Miguel driving by her side.

Everyone stared, eyes wide. Never before had the school's youngest alphas gotten together like this.

Both stopped at their lockers, where Tercio and Benedicto stared with mouths open. Pearle looked to Miguel, and as he nodded, sh turned to her locker. He opened his locker beside hers.

Tercio leaned over slightly. "How on earth did you score like that?" he whispered urgently in disbelief.

The two friends hadn't actually known that Miguel and Pearle had gotten together, but they had noticed that, in the last few weeks, Rodrigo had been looking moony.

Miguel only shrugged, smiling as he reached for his Math and Spanish notes. He then closed the locker door.

"Oh, I can't see you next period," Pearle told him with sad eyes. "I have Chem."

He only kissed her fender. "But I'll see you in Spanish," he told her smilingly.

She returned the smile with hers, and she, in turn, pecked his golden fender. "I'll see you then."

He nodded, and with one last blink she turned to head for the Chemistry lab. Miguel gave an audible sigh as he stared after her.

"You have it bad, _hombre_," Benedicto murmured. Closer to Miguel, Tercio nodded in earnest.

"Yeah," Miguel admitted mindlessly. "Maybe I do."

"But never forget," Tercio hissed, "that nothing is permanent."

Miguel only stared at his friend, who stared back, brown eyes fierce. The alpha male didn't know that that meant, but he had the gut feeling Tercio was right.

And right Tercio was.

When Miguel had gone to Pearle's mansion for a study date, her parents weren't home and she was in her room. Their butler, Cristóbal, led the fifteen-year-old to Pearle's room, and, dismissing the butler, he opened the door. What was shown in front of him stunned Miguel to utter silence.

Pearle, overturned, was lying under a common road car, a black Toyota Altis, sighing and moaning slightly in pleasure. Both were whispering, soft and sexy.

"…_mi-mi Perlita,_" Miguel murmured, and the two jerked around to see Rodrigo there.

"R-rodrigo," she murmured, and she pushed the Altis off, righting herself. "I-I can explain!"

Miguel shook with rage. "After all I've done for you, all I've given you…you show me this?" he said slowly.

"Rodrigo, it's not what you think!" she told him, thrusting her bumper to his desperately.

He backed away, eyes narrowed and glistening. "You can keep that rim," he spat, glancing at her right tire. "Just so you can be reminded of how you much you betrayed my heart." He turned away, leaving Pearle and her new, so-called boyfriend alone.

Starting the next day, he made sure their paths never crossed, even at the lockers. She caught on soon enough, and one day, when he found her by his locker, he strolled over casually, striking a conversation with a startled Tercio as they pulled their books from the lockers. Pearle only looked on sadly, wincing as Miguel slammed the metal panel so hard it shook her own locker door. The friends went off to head for their English class, and she found Miguel sitting at the far side, talking with Tercio and those who needed help with their English homework. All the seats—behind him, in front and to his left, as that his right was the wall—were filled by Mercutio, Victorina and Tercio respectively. Pearle instead settled herself on Tercio's other side.

"Hi Miguel," Victorina crooned slightly, glancing for a split-second at Pearle, whose own gaze narrowed in jealousy.

"Victorina," Miguel replied politely with a smile and a relaxed gaze.

"Is it true you and Pearle are over?" she asked.

Everyone nearby turned to Rodrigo. What would he say?

But there was no reason to hide things. "Yes," he replied casually.

That was the sole moment where Miguel confirmed the rumors at school.

"For what reason?"

"What happened?"

These were the questions that were raised around him as cars strained to listen.

He pursed his lips in thought. "Personal reasons," he told them. "I'm sure Pearle would prefer to keep it secret."

Someone sighed to the side, and Miguel glanced at the girl in question. Their gazes met for a moment, his stare calm yet cold, and he turned to Victorina once more, smiling slightly at her. Pearle turned away sadly.

"You always were honorable, Rodrigo," Tercio commented.

Miguel only shrugged, nudging his rolling pen slightly. Even if he smiled and told everyone he wouldn't do anything to disrespect Perla, they have it wrong.

One night, coming without an invitation, he snuck out of the house to reach the Carmella, or Pearle's, mansion. It was one of those nights when Pearle's parents weren't home, and Miguel planned to talk to Pearle. He wanted to make things clear with her, and that he'll only want to be friends after that, because he knows he can't have her heart. He breathed deeply as he looked up the front door. He knocked at the grand oaken door, and it swiveled open to reveal Cristóbal.

"_Señor_ Camino," he greeted, surprised.

"May I come in?" Miguel asked.

"Of course." The butler invited the young master in, and the door was shut.

"Where is Pearle?" Miguel asked.

"She is upstairs, young master," Cristóbal replied. "Although she may not want to be disturbed."

_She's probably having one of those nights again,_ he told himself, and felt intimidated by what he'd see. For all he knew, it could be an SUV or someone bigger than he was. But nonetheless, this was the night he planned to talk to her, and he was going to do it.

Suddenly, there was another knock on the door, and Cristóbal grumbled in wonder as he went over to open the door, excusing himself.

"Good evening, Cristóbal," a baritone voice said in a gentle evening voice.

Miguel watched as the butler's eyes widened. "_S-Señor _Carmella!" the butler exclaimed softly.

"Yes, what is the matter?" Pearle's father strolled in, a huge black Maserati Quattroporte, and his wife, a white GranTurismo like her daughter, entered the prestigious Carmella home.

"_Señor _Carmella," Miguel greeted. Why were her parents home?

The plans suddenly changed, and he panicked for a moment before the pieces fell together. Her parents, here, at her home, on the night he was to talk to her? _Perfect_. He would have revenge then. She had betrayed his heart. Why not betray her, too?

"Oh," Mr. Carmella said, almost startled. "Rodrigo."

It wasn't the first time her parents and the young master met, but it had been a while the last time Rodrigo had last come here.

The master of the home seemed to narrow his eyes at him, and the mother only looked on with an intimidating stare. The parents, bigger than his brother Bartolomé, was capable of kicking him out in one shot. They probably heard of his break-up with Pearle, and they certainly weren't happy about it.

"How is she?" Miguel asked them casually, but he hadn't his usual smile on.

"She cried for nights," Mrs. Carmella informed him coldly. "This was the first time her heart had been shattered, Rodrigo, and we aren't happy about it."

Miguel took a deep breath. This wasn't easy. "_Señor, Señora_, I can explain for myself the reason why I broke up with her," he started. "Please don't judge me just because she told you I broke up with her." He paused, staring at them, before he continued. He swallowed, unsure of how to start or if to actually tell them the truth, but he had to; he didn't want to make enemies of stronger cars. "Pearle…she's been having sex with other cars."

The parents were aghast at his accusation. They started to exclaim and refute his claim, but Cristóbal only silenced them with a small call.

"I…she has been threatening to kill me since I discovered what she has been doing when you were away," he said quietly. "I was afraid for myself, and not the truth," he added sadly. "For this I am sorry, _Señor, Señora_."

Both Maseratis were completely blown away, but still in sheer disbelief. Miguel just remembered a fact: the Carmellas weren't supposed to be here. They were supposed to be out on a business conference. It must have been canceled. He smiled internally. He may be able to confirm his and Cristóbal's claims.

"Mr. and Mrs. Carmella, if you won't believe my words, then believe what I will show you," he told them. Quietly he led them up the stairs, and towards their daughter's room. He hushed the parents slightly as they crossed the hall, Cristóbal taking up the rear. As the cars' engines grew quiet as they slowed, they could easily hear sounds coming from Pearle's room. As they reached her door, he pushed the door open. There, right in the middle of the bed, was Pearle, with the same black Altis as less than two weeks before.

Mrs. Carmella was the first to gasp aloud. "_Pearle Alexandriae Carmella!_" she shrieked, and the two jerked around to see two large Maseratis there.

"Mama?" Pearle murmured in disbelief as she righted herself. Her eyes were wide with shock. _They weren't supposed to be home!_

Her father shook with rage, but her contained it enough to turn to Miguel. "Thank you, Rodrigo, for telling us about this," he said, and Pearle looked into cold deep green. His gaze was contemptuous and snickering. "You may leave," the father growled, and Miguel pointedly turned around.

"Oh, _muchas, muchas gracias Señor _Camino!" Cristóbal thanked over and over.

"Just don't mention it," Miguel replied. "And don't ever, ever be afraid of Pearle again; you're older, and you can find work with us if you get thrown out by her."

"Thank you so much, young master." The butler was practically crying in his joy, and recomposed himself.

"Rodrigo, no!" she cried as he left. He glanced at her one last time, sorrow and contempt in his eyes before he crossed the threshold one last time.

The next day's morning sun and chirping birds may have promised a good day, but that was not so.

"You stupid jerk!"

The screech echoed around the cafeteria, and everyone turned to stare at Pearle, whose blue eyes gleamed with fury as she stared at a golden car. She decided to confront him right there and then.

Miguel, on the other hand, only stared at her, anger making him seem quiet and calm. Tolomé stood there beside him for support. Apparently, the older brother had heard what had happened from Rodrigo the night before.

"You had no right to tell my parents what I had been doing!" she screeched at him.

"They have as much right to know." He forced his voice to be as calm as possible.

"But you had no right!"

"Cristóbal knew, and you threatened to kill him," he retorted. "You did the wrong thing, Pearle, and you know it."

"Still!"

He glanced at the forming crowd. They were murmuring questions among themselves. He knew everyone would be curious. It was still perfect.

"What could I do, Pearle?" he asked her with stern eyes. "I can't just leave you to do the wrong thing."

She stared at him. "I thought you didn't love me," she suggested.

"But I still care, Pearle," he put in. _Fat chance_, he thought. But it was a believable reason, a ploy no one could refute. "And I told them because of that."

"No!" she screeched. "You don't care! You don't care an inch!" She was sobbing now. "I'm not allowed to see anyone anymore. Security cameras are to be installed." She cried some more. "My life is being controlled, Rodrigo! Do you know how much that hurts?"

"It's better than seeing you do the wrong thing!" he roared. He couldn't believe he fell for such a girl like her! He couldn't believe he fell for a someone who preferred that kind of life! He couldn't believe he fell for a slut. But she hid things well, he gave her that. But nonetheless, she was a traitor. Miguel shook with anger. "You're lucky you had such a life!" He bit back something about siblings; he cared far too much for Tolomé to get him hurt. "And you wasted it, stooping for something as low as sleeping with other cars!"

Everyone gasped. The secret's out now.

"Miguel, that's not—"

"Oh yes," he snarled. "It is true. You allowed a car to defile you, when you promised your heart to me. You promised!" he told her, eyes starting to glisten in the hurt of her betrayal. "You never realized it wouldn't be so fine with me, is it? You never realized how much it hurt to see you with another car?" He trembled, and Tolomé sided by his younger brother to help Miguel continue. "You traitor!" he roared. His anger flowed now at the memory of those two nights. "I loved you, Pearle, because you were the right girl, because no rumors flew around at school, because you had been true to your name!" He closed his eyes as he shuddered. "Because I did." He sniffed, and Tolomé nuzzled his brother for comfort. He opened his eyes again, and his green gaze was contemptuous and cold. "Now, you have nothing." He looked away from her to a point on the floor. "I don't want to have anything to do with you again, Pearle. I don't want to suffer any more than I should. I don't want to seem selfish," he added, "but I wanted someone who can take me to a moment where I can actually feel happy." He stared at her again, gaze gentle as he remembered the sweet moments they had, just staying together as they watched their hometown from the countryside. "After what you did, I know you can't be that someone." He turned away. "Come on, Tolomé; we've nothing more to do here."

He sobbed hard that night, his brother staying protectively by Rodrigo's side. Tolomé told the rest of the family soon enough. His mother told them that it was good he didn't pursue the relationship, and that the girl would only make his life miserable, even if her tone was indifferent. His sisters felt sorry for their sibling; even Eugénia felt so moved by what had happened. Estéban gave his son a quiet but meaningful nuzzle of comfort. Little could comfort the heartbroken car at that moment, but even he knew that he would move on, even if it wasn't as soon as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

_Glad you like it, Miss __**Shadoru**__! xD_

_Well, how exactly is the pearl he's supposed to find supposed to get with him if he isn't single, __**Mere**__? O.o And Chem is Chemistry; sorry about that. O.o I thought you'd know; a lot of us are used to that during our third year. xD And I can understand why the dork question; may as well have raised it for others. ^-^_

_I've seen a lot of that kind of thing these days, **Pancake**; believe me, I have. :/  
_

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

He started liking the Running of the Bulldozers at the young age of fifteen. He'd snuck out of the house with his older brother just to watch, only because his mother wouldn't approve.

Every July 7 to 14, there would be a special feast or festival week dedicated to San Fermín, the patron saint of Navarre. A road to the dozer ring that passes through the old part of Pamplona was made, using planks of wood as barriers, its length being 826 yards. Only cars eighteen years and above could join, though. Six fighting bulls would be released each day for seven days, the runners just ahead of the dozers and the steers right behind. The runners would run the length of the way, from the starting point tooth e dozer ring, where the bulls would be led to the pen to be killed later that day in a regular bullfight.

"_Hermano,_ what are they doing?" he asked his older brother.

"It is the Running of the Bulldozers," the older touring car told Miguel. "They run all the way from there," he jerked his bumper to the staring point, "to the dozer run there." He stared at the general direction of the bull ring. "Will be able to hear and see four rockets, each with its own meaning."

"What do they mean?"

"The first would mean the bulls have been released from their corrals. The second means they're all out of the corrals. The third means they've entered the ring. The fourth would mean that all the bulls are in their pens."

Young Miguel Camino nodded in understanding. And then, the first rocket sounded, and everyone seemed to get excited. He heard an unfamiliar call that rose within the crowd and the runners.

"Viva San Fermín! Gora San Fermín!"

"What does that mean? Why are they cheering, Tolomé?"

"They're cheering for San Fermín, Miguel, that the saint may protect them as the runners run."

Miguel nodded once more, and soon, he could see the runners in white and red, followed closely by the golden bulldozers.

"Come on little brother; let's go to the ring, where the toreros are." He led his little brother away from the fence.

Once in the stands, the third rocket was sent flying, and the ring was dominated by cars and dozers alike, six cars of which that had magenta and gold dress capes. Some of the golden animals would veer away from the torero, a car with the pink dress cape, and charge at the others. But the other cars, the runners, would help get the bull's attention back, and the leading would start again.

Young Miguel was amazed by how fun it seemed, how good the cars were at handling the bulls. He wished he would be down in the ring someday, to be the one running, and, if he can, to be the one with the magenta cape hung just on his taillights.

But when he returned home, he wasn't so sure.

"Rodrigo! Arturo!" his mother snarled at them. "You had no right to go to the San Fermín festival!"

The brothers' fronts bowed as their family, their mother and three sisters, watched, the sisters' gazing on contemptuously. Miguel and Barolomé Arturo had been caught 'red-tired' sneaking in.

"We already told you, Arturo, that the encierro is not for you!" Sofía was absolutely fuming. "You are higher than them! You do not deserve such a lowly celebration!"

But Bartolomé couldn't take it anymore. He and his little brother has had enough of their mother raising them to be what they didn't want to be: cars of nobility and class. As boys, they wanted the freedom of a peasant, and the happy life of such, where needs are met and wants weren't so much. The Caminos had everything, which made things worse.

"It is a festival for San Fermín, mamá!" he spat. "It is an honor to celebrate Pamplona's patron saint!"

"Nevertheless," Sofía growled, "you are forbidden to attend that event!"

It wasn't odd to them that Sofía would claim the decisions of the welfare of the children; it was actually normal. Estéban, their father, was out all day, working to keep up the amount he made each month, to keep up the lifestyle he gave Sofía and his children. But he did decide on the bigger decisions, like moving or having a construction in the home.

"Why can't you be more like your sisters: well-mannered and with posit and grace?" she hissed. At that, Sofía turned away, leaving her children to talk amongst themselves.

"Nice going, Rodrigo," Eugénia spat, voice low.

"Yeah, nice going," Mercedes replied.

The youngest, little Mireia only followed suit, nodding. Mireia had always sided by Mercedes, no matter what happened. Although she liked Miguel and Bartolomé, Mercedes had stepped in to lead Mireia, and it was like that ever since.

Bartolomé sighed as the sisters left. "One day," he vowed quietly, "I'll be in the Running of the Bulls."

Miguel nodded in agreement. One day, he promised. One day.

And that day came, indeed.

When Bartolomé was old enough to work, the age of twenty-one, he and Miguel, having just turned eighteen in less than a month, attended the week of San Fermín festival, having reserved a room at a nearby inn. Bartolomé promised his brother a surprise for his birthday, and this was it.

"Mamá cannot find out this way," Bartolomé reasoned out.

They had claimed to go on a brotherly vacation in Cataluña, where they can see the Cataluña Grand Prix. Luckily their mother didn't follow any category of motorsport, because the races at the Circuit of Cataluña had been over since months ago. The other day, they had themselves a new paint job, consisting of the standard 'uniform' required for the running: the color white, and a cloth of red around them that resembled a neckerchief.

And so, on the morning right after the announcement of the tart of the Sanfermínes festival, both of Pamplona's own Camino brothers stood at the starting point.

"Remember," his brother murmured, "it is a test of speed and stamina. Do not dash away too hard or too far." Miguel only nodded. "Our goal is to lead the dozers to the bullring, so you may want to stay as close but as safe as you can."

Miguel nodded again as the prayer of San Fermín broke out. "_A San Fermín pedimos, por ser nuestro patrón, nos guíe en el encierro dándonos su bendición_!" This was chanted three times, and the brothers joined in.

Soon enough, the brothers joined in, and security cleared the way for the runners. In his sideview mirrors, he could find a tinge of gold among the cars in white and red. Rattles over the pavement sounded in his ears, and he and his brother dashed away.

"_Viva San Fermín_!" Miguel called at the top of his voice and out to the heavens. "_Gora San Fermín_!" With that, he raced out to the open road.

There was a thrill in his lines as he ran, much like adrenaline. It drove him forward and back with fearlessness, as he played with danger and safety.

Soon enough, they reached the ring. There they met the six toreros, and the runners scattered. Miguel and Bartolomé watched at the sidelines as the cars with the magenta capes took charge.

Miguel could only watch in awe at the speed and agility of the matadors. Each movement was not without importance; every flick of the cape or a swerve meant something, and Miguel wanted to know what they were.

"I want to do that someday, Tolomé," he murmured to his brother.

"Maybe, Rodrigo," Bartolomé replied as he too watched in awe. "Maybe."

The words shared weren't just words; they were a prophecy.

One season of the fights was all he needed to learn how; one more season to try his skill out, and his debut came the next year.

And then, there he was, standing in the middle of the ring, a traditional red _muleta_ or cape, and a sword hidden at the wooden dowel, or the stick that stretches the cape and serves as the handle for the cape.

He had himself re-painted for traditional purposes, and donned the traditional _traje de luces_, or the suit of lights, where red dominated the colors over the gold, as that his usual yellow concealed the intricate gold patterns. A _montera_ adorned his top, a Spanish bullfighter's traditional black hat. The _muleta_ hung over his taillights, connected to a hook he could control, much like a tow truck's cable. And he stood in the middle, the afternoon sun reflecting off his country's colors, his green gaze moving over the crowd as they cheered, looking on. He winked at a few _señoritas _that were hyperventilating in the crowd, and they swooned. He chuckled, his grin widening.

The tired golden bull standing to the side glared at him, and with a loud _muuu_, the matador turned. The bull approached, and Miguel held his ground at a practiced stance.

The crowd fell silent as they watched in suspense. It would be an interesting fifteen minutes tonight as the finale of the day's events ensued.

Miguel presented the red side of his cape, just on his side as he faced the bull up front. The bull snorted and charged, and Miguel only need raise the cape. "_¡Olé!_" he called, and the crowd replied the same, excited.

The bull snorted again, and turned, glaring at the matador whose cape was dangling enticingly off a chain. It _moo_-ed, and charged once more. "_¡Olé!"_ the crowd called again as Miguel reversed, facing the bull that had just run past.

It was the same thing over and over, his style getting more and more intricate as the golden dozer charged heavier and heavier. Miguel was as quick as he was handsome, and he hardly failed to put on a good show. The bull, in turn, was getting more frustrated than ever. The air was tightening with tension. Would Miguel be able to deal the final blow?

The gasping animal stood there as the matador held up his cape once more, twitching it to lure the bull to charge. But this time, the cloth was right in front of Miguel's eyes. The crowd gasped. How would he be able to see? The bull bellowed again, and charged. Everyone stilled as they watched.

But it was easy to calculate how fast the bull was going, how far it was from himself, but only because the thing was as noisy as chirping birds on a serene morning, and Miguel sidestepped at the last moment, driving the blade straight at the middle of the bull's engine.

Everyone cheered as the bull collapsed in front of them, right in the middle of the ring, dead. Anyone nearby could hear the silence that emanated from the dozer, and mules were brought over to drag it away. Miguel looked up and straightened despite his exhaustion. His green gaze glittered as he watched the crowd again. Even if it was just another day at the dozer ring, it still felt special as the crowd applauded his performance.

As he re-entered his so-called dressing room, his brother greeted him there.

"Congratulations, Rodrigo," Tolomé called smilingly.

Miguel only sighed as he hooked the montera off his head. "Another exciting day," he replied as gaily. He blinked. "Why didn't you become a matador again, Tolomé?"

Bartolomé only sighed. "Remember, I have a new life now. I don't want to keep risking my life for my family."

Miguel only nodded. "Yes, I remember." His brother had gone off with another girl once more, but this time, it had been more than just a relationship. It had grown to a full-blown marriage, and soon enough, Bartolomé had chosen to quit his profession as a matador to please his wife. And besides, what would Alfonso think if his father had died so early in his life?

Rodrigo sighed sadly. _If only Perla wasn't so selfish, _he thought, _I would have been the one for her._ He glanced into space wistfully. _If only_.

As soon as he was out of the parlor, having changed back into his usual yellow color, he caught sight of fangirls, and he grinned. "Will I ever be rid of them?" he asked his brother, and they laughed as he approached the girls, and they barely contained their excited squeaks.

But it wasn't always this easy.

Once Sofía knew about Miguel's and Bartolomé's plan to become _toreros_ in the dozer ring, she was outraged, throwing a fit.

"You are better than that, Rodrigo, Arturo!" she screamed at him. "You must choose something better!"

But he was twenty, is brother twenty-two, both well above the age of consent. Her outrage at his plan became theirs, too, at her utter dislike of their chosen career, and it forced a harsh retort from Bartolomé. "It is what I have chosen, mother!" Tolomé snarled at her. "I am twenty-two years old, and you cannot tell me what to do!"

"For as long as you are my sons, I have full control of what you will choose!"

"Well, maybe I don't want to be your son!" Miguel spat back, and the rest of the family gasped. "You heard me," he growled. "I'm sick and tired of you always having to choose! I want to be a matador, not some business executive."

"Miguel Rodrigo Camino, that is enough!" Sofía snarled.

"No!" he roared, glaring at her with the full force of his fury. "I will not tolerate my twin sister or Milagros! I will not tolerate your choices for my life. I am a grown car now, and I will choose what I think is best for myself."

"What you _think_, Rodrigo," Milagros shot back. "What our mother is choosing for us is because she _knows_ it's the best."

"But what if it's not?" Miguel glared at her. "What if it's not meant to be?"

"As long as you live under my roof, you're following my orders, Rodrigo!"

"I'll leave then!" Sofía winced at the tone of voice he used on her. "As long as I'm rid of your decisions for me, that's where I'll go!" He turned. "Come on, Tolomé; let's pack up and go."

That was the last time he ever saw his mother, his father, or his sisters again. It was only lucky that they had left when Bartolomé had a job already, but soon enough, both brothers were working for themselves. Eventually, Miguel had to move out because Bartolomé had his own life now, and getting engaged and married wasn't the best thing for the younger brother. But as his career as a matador flourished, he could support more than himself: he can support his wants, too.

And then came that fateful day his career would take a universal turn.

"Hey, hey you," someone called.

Rodrigo was playing in a small corral with a young cow, and he turned to face a strange car. "Yes?" he asked as he approached. The young cow lowed and nuzzled his side gently.

"You are…" the car glanced at the paper, "Miguel Rodrigo Camino, is it?"

"_Si_, that is me," he replied. "What do you want?"

"Yes, well," the car cleared her throat as she lowered the paperwork from her face. The girl spoke with roughly an American accent, although by the looks of her, she was Spanish. Maybe she was like him, too, as that her first language was English. "My company has heard that you are quite a prestigious matador in the dozer ring."

He blinked. "That's what they all say," he said, chuckling.

"The company wanted a little more publicity than usual, and they would like you to represent them in the races of the Grand Touring segment of motorsport."

His eyes widened. "_Motorsport?_" he repeated in utter disbelief.

"If there is another kind of sport that is available to a car, then no, the company will not accept that," she replied sarcastically. "We are asking if you will do it or not."

He blinked at her. "Why are you asking me to do this?" he inquired. "Why a lowly _torero_ like me?"

"Because," she said. "Just follow." There was a pause, and she sighed. "The bosses have watched your performances, and had decided that you are the one to represent the company on endurance races," she replied. "Is that enough for you?"

He felt proud of himself. All that time, practicing with various mediums—cars, dozers and younger cattle—paid off. Now he was to start another phase of his life: a racing career.

He stood straight. "I accept."

* * *

_Be sure to await his racing days! xD_


	5. Chapter 5

_D8 Sorry for the late? I might be busy this time around; darn Internet service, PM and research! D8 xD_

_Aws, __**Mere**__, I'm sorry for that, but details are as details…are. xDD _

_Yes, my dear __**Pancake**__, I always put research first. xD That's the hardest part of writing mind you, that everything seems as realistic as possible. I __**try**__ as much as I can to make everything seem so real, so true to the topic itself, which is probably why Mere feels as if she were there, I suppose. x33_

* * *

_**Chapter Five**_

It was a hard start for Miguel, but eventually, he was able to keep up with the things he was able to do today.

Starting from the introduction, to training, to doing races on the track, Miguel had such a hard time communicating with his new mentor and crew chief, Petro Cartalina. Petro tried beign as gentle as possible, but to no avail: Miguel had his heart set on doing things alone, by himself, only because he had the set impression that Petro would be as bad as Sofía or as loose as Estéban.

Petro Cartalina had been the team's crew chief since before Miguel even entered motorsport, training old and new racers alike. But none of his apprentices were as bad as Miguel.

"You have to listen to me!" Petro Cartalina called. "I'm your only chance on the track, the only one you can turn to for advice!"

"You can't tell me what to do!" Miguel argued. "I'm the one doing the race! If you're so awesome, why don't you go out to the track yourself?"

That was the start of the enmity between racer and crew chief, and at Miguel's argument, Petro decided to take a little vacation from the team. This left the team and the company a little uneasy, but Miguel had reassured them that 'he would lead the team on, even without the help of Petro Cartalina'.

But that was the worst thing he ever promised.

Things started going downhill. Without Petro to take charge and hold the team together, Miguel started blaming the others for his losses. He and his pitties were soon enemies, and the company ordered the team to drop for that season.

"But…but it's in the middle of the racing season!" Miguel cried out.

"We know," the boss replied. "It seems that you can't hold yourself together, Miguel. You need Petro Cartalina with you and your team; you can't handle things alone. That is the use of a crew chief."

But pride made Miguel stick to his one-man-show idea, and couldn't agree with everyone else. He broke down in private several times. Soon enough, it made sense to him that they needed a crew chief, that he himself was the one with the problem.

"Petro?" he called at the door of Petro's apartment, knocking slightly.

The door didn't open, but Miguel could hear a voice. "What do you want?" The crew chief's tone wasn't a snarl of anger, but one that presented indifference.

"May I talk with you?"

The door opened, and Miguel's green eyes met Petro Cartalina's creamy brown. Petro's gaze was unreadable.

"May I come in?" Miguel asked to break the painful silence.

"You are unwelcome to my home," Petro only clipped, and started to close the door.

"I'm sorry!" Miguel called, and the door stopped midway. "For all that I have done and for how much I have offended you, I am sorry!"

Petro only looked on with slight interest, and Miguel continued.

"I…I guess I was too proud. I didn't think for once if I would need your help. I thought I didn't need your help." His golden front bowed. "Now, I realize how important every member of the team is, including the crew chief."

"So?"

"I want you back," Miguel replied. "No, wait, I _need_ you back." The racer's voice was more fervent than ever, more pleading than otherwise. "Please; I want to continue my racing career, and I care for what happens to the rest of my team."

Miguel only heard silence between them as his eyes didn't meet Petro's, green irises bowed low in sadness. He didn't want to lose the only one that can control the entire team from a vantage point that can view the entirety of the track, the only one who sees all in the team. Moreover, he didn't want to lose his racing career, and it depended on Petro Cartalina no matter how much Miguel could deny it.

"Alright" was a low murmur from Petro, and Miguel's eyes flicked upwards in surprise to see the older car staring with amused brown eyes at the young racer.

"What?" Elation crawled onto Miguel's chassis.

"I'll come back," Petro said, but before Miguel could jump for joy, he continued, "but on one condition."

"I'll do anything!" Miguel called out happily.

"You have to listen to _everything_ I say," Petro replied. "I'm your crew chief, as well as your superior on and off the track. We may be friends someday, but never, _ever_ do that again."

"I won't!" Miguel promised. "With all my heart!"

With all his heart he did. The team rejoiced when Petro arrived at the next practice session, as well as the Sunday race, and all practices, qualifying sessions and races that followed. The team was even more surprised that Miguel was going with Petro's flow instead of against it, but who was complaining? With the entire team together, the team soared through the ladder mid-season, and won more championships than they have lost. Miguel turned from driving rookie to racing at the top of his game with the help of his team, and he has acknowledged them in his speeches more than once.

But even the guidance of his crew chief cannot sway Miguel's humanlike imperfections.

His agent would fit invitations to parties into the schedule, and Miguel would go. Petro would sometimes decline, but urged Miguel to go without Petro for exposure. And besides, the crew chief knew Miguel could take care of himself. Oh, how wrong the crew chief was.

They seemed like invitations that were innocent enough, like children's parties where the adults would converse over simple cokes and ice cream. Wrong; these parties were for adults, and for adults they were: cocktails were merely a few things that lured cars to these social events. At his first party with Petro, it seemed nice enough, but at his first party _without_ his father-figure, it was scary, and he started at the bottom of the food chain, just like in his school years and his racing career.

Cars from all around conversed with him, and they seemed nice enough. What he wasn't prepared for was the flirty women that crossed his path more than once. Sweating like a nerd whose sexy crush had just taken an interest in, he backed up into the walls, smiling nervously as girl after girl purred at him. Soon enough, he learned to be forceful and brave enough to turn them down.

Still, that wasn't enough. In his mind, he remembered how Pearle had enjoyed what she had done with the Altis. He fought to shove the betrayal away and see through to the rewards of the act. He figured his forcefulness could turn off women, but what about if he could turn it around? He'd seen how the girls would try making him feel insecure, unsure but his head sent reeling? How about that?

At the next party, sure enough, one girl had approached him: a pretty little Honda. But he didn't want just any car: he wanted someone worth his time. He was _the_ Miguel Camino after all; they claim he should have the best, and the best he'd get. He'd turned every girl that approached him down, except for the only one that caught his eye: a smooth and sexy black Aston Martin DBS.

Did it matter, he wondered, if she had pretty blue eyes, that she was black, that she could be as innocent as he was? No matter; she probably didn't care about that either.

"Hello," he started as she approached.

"Hel-lo," she crooned, circling him slightly. "What I would do to get hot with a car like you...," she murmured in a tone that made Miguel's head reel.

"Maybe you can," he replied as softly, his lids sliding down so his eyes were half-open. Oddly enough, he wasn't nervous, but high yet focused on his goal.

"I can?" she asked, her gaze as soft as his.

A corner of his lips twitched in amusement. "Maybe we should take this…conversation…elsewhere."

The DBS giggled. "Lead the way," she said, gesturing away with her tire.

He glanced around, making sure no one he knew caught the DBS following him outside into the night air and into the hotel room he was staying in for the night.

It was nice, he thought, that these kinds of rooms were big enough and private enough for trysts like these. That first night, he didn't have to worry so much about disturbing his neighbor, or the tenants upstairs and below.

He sighed in relief nearly half an hour later. He wasn't so quick to release, and neither was she. The DBS sighed in contentment as well, snuggling by his side and moaning softly. Things weren't so bad, he thought, once he found out how amazing his first time went. Now he knew why Pearle had sought this thing out: it was as wonderful as getting a high on the track.

Yet, he couldn't stay. He just did a girl he didn't even know. But he had been so exhausted he just woke early the next morning to leave without a note. He figured she would know; she seemed like such an expert last night, after all.

As he made his way out into the open road, into the open dawn, he realized how easy his life would be if this continued. This was something he could use as a form of release from his frustrations, to his triumphs, to his boredom, and he had all night for it, except maybe on race weekends. Petro Cartalina didn't have to know, and neither did anyone else. But he would have to be choosy: a good girl would likely report it, and his reputation would crash. He would agree to as many parties as he pleased—he was one of the greater racers after all; people frequently would seek him out for media and personal purposes now—and he would do whatever he pleased, carefully.

Six months was all he needed to perfect his skill in taking on different personalities according to what the girl wanted: dominant or sweet, slow or fast, passionate or as if it was an everyday thing. He could make a girl's heart melt at one moment's glance with sultry, half-closed green eyes, or her will swayed with smooth conversation. He turned from innocent schoolboy to sexy hotrod in the months that followed. He learned he can apply this in photo shoots, from mere stances with half-closed eyes to a combo of poses and positions his photographers wanted. And as his pictures hit magazine covers, of course, the females would notice. It seemed that hardly any female car didn't buy the magazine for the sake of the content, according to the number sales had amounted, and this encouraged posters and more to be printed. Videos of his actions—both in the dozer ring, on the rack, and off both—were uploaded into the Internet, and millions of hits were recorded within a few weeks. He became more and more dominant in the number of wanted bachelors, and soon enough, he was one of the most renowned and lusted-over cars in the world. Everything went so fast and yet so slow, like a bull charging at you, and one could see how the dozer moved in detail, like time would slow for you to see everything. And he did.

Yet, fame, fortune, recognition and physical love: these weren't enough for the Spaniard, though. He felt…empty, incomplete, like there was something missing. He was discontented with his life, and he didn't know why.

Miguel had everything he wanted: choices for someone to love, all the money he wanted, friends that could help him. But the choices were mere fans; all they wanted was the fame and, well, Miguel Camino. They didn't want Miguel Rodrigo Camino. All the money he wanted? That was a lie; he was rich, yes, but spend it all in one night and he would be broke. His only friends were his teammates, and all they could offer was advice on the track. Even Cartalina, the first one to call him 'Rodrigo' again in years, couldn't match what Miguel wanted.

There was something wrong in his life, and he knew it. He was not blind to what it was: the blackness that tainted his innocent life, one that had changed him completely, one that he probably couldn't rise from, like being locked in a room without a ray of light seeping through, or an ugly seabed of sunken ships, old, rusted and scary. He knew he needed a light, something to guide him from the dim of his life, something to give him reason again. He needed the ray of light, the pretty flower to brighten his meadow, the beautiful pearl to glisten even in the faint light.

But he didn't need the pearl that betrayed him, the one that caused him much pain. He didn't need the golden light of the sun; he already had that. He needed the serene, silver light of the moon, one that can soothe his nerves from the day, one that can help him slow from the fast lane of the day's races, one that can help him enjoy the finer things in life, like the beauty of true pearls.

And a pearl he would be granted.


	6. Chapter 6

_Finally I can get on with my notes in my notebook! xD Ch.6 in just about two days? xD_

_I'm sure you'll find out, __**pizzachic**__. :)._

_Well, I did warn you at the start that there are suggestions, dear __**Mere**__. :) Hehe, thanks for that. xD_

_Thanks for that, __**Pancake**__! x3 D8 Oh, noes! I'm so sorry about that; I just thought blue eyes went pretty with sleek black~ x3_

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

He glanced at the windows that stretched up to the ceiling. Late afternoon had turned to twilight, which flowed to a quiet, cloudless evening. He then glanced around, and caught sight of a cute Z4. Would he be able to pull her away from prying eyes? Maybe, but only if he could actually get away from the group.

He'd been idling with his friends from the World Grand Prix, listening mildly, and, in some points, not even listening. His friends talked about nothing in particular; just things about their lives.

That night was the evening of one of Francesco Bernoulli's grand, special-occasion parties; this night, to celebrate his son's second birthday. Friends and family had been invited, and the gifts had piled up even higher than the young Formula's head.

The celebration consisted of a two-week vacation for special guests, namely the racers of the World Grand Prix, as well as close friends and family of the Bernoullis and immediate mutual friends between the racers and the family. The vacation consisted of beach days, tours around Porto Corsa and racing days at the local track.

He'd only come by to respect the invitation; he hadn't really planned on staying two weeks without his usual nightly freedom. He didn't want to leave Rip and Raoul alone, and he was encouraged to come as per his two friends' request. Well, maybe the fact that he wanted to celebrate Little Gianfranco Bernoulli's birthday was there, but it was only partial; he could have just sent a really big birthday present for the child.

"Miguel?" a voice snapped him back to reality.

"Hmm?"

"How's life going for you?" His friend, Rip Clutchgoneski, had spoken.

"Oh, uh, fine, I suppose."

"No girl to come home to?" Carla Veloso had spoken.

"No," he said sadly. "I can't seem to find the right one for me."

Beside him, Raoul ÇaRoule nudged him slightly with his tire. "I'm sure you'll find someone."

Miguel only shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."

"Don't give up, Miguel," Lightning McQueen told him. "Marlene found someone; why can't you?"

Miguel only smiled gratefully before a new car arrived to join them.

"Fellows," she said.

_She_ said. He glanced up to see a pale silver Audi A7, whose eyes, oddly enough, were brown. _Dark_ brown. They didn't match her color, or his lost brother's. But they were big, beautiful, innocent. For some reason, they were pretty.

But nobody could judge how much one can love based on eyes alone, nor based on what kind of car they were, nor on what color they were.

Everyone else murmured their greeting, some greeting her by name. But all he caught were murmurs; he couldn't exactly hear them all in the din.

"So Max, how's your project going?" she asked, eliciting conversation.

"I'm still sticking to my theory," the German said defiantly.

The silver Audi shrugged. "I'm telling you, the machinery won't work without a hydraulic mechanism. And it hardly rusts, too."

"I'm sure nuts and bolts will work," Max Schnell argued.

She rolled her eyes. "Sticking to old times won't help you these days; nuts and bolts will rust at the exposure of water and air. I think oil is better."

"What's the project?" Marlene Bernoulli asked.

"Mr. Schnell here is working on a bit of tech at a power plant," she told them. "Francesco—ahem, unfortunately—" the group laughed as Francesco rolled his eyes, "referred Max to me when he needed help." She glanced up in thought. "That didn't seem right." But she shrugged.

"Oh, so you're an engineer, too?" Raoul offered slightly.

"_Mechanical engineer_, to be exact," she replied proudly. "I have other bachelor's degrees and master's degrees, but I'm technically a mechanical engineer."

Miguel only blinked. She so was an engineer. She she can fix cars. But so what? There shouldn't be anything special about her. …should there?

"I don't believe I've met the rest of you," he heard her say as he listened mildly. "There's Max. Miss Carla. Rip and Raoul. Of course, there's Lewis and Jeff. How can I forget Lewis and Jeff?" she added in a half-mutter, and everyone else snickered. "And, well, there's Francesco and Lightning."

Raoul stared at her. "You…?"

"Yes, I was the one at my cousin Marlene's birthday party, you know, the one constantly stuffing my face with cake," she said, and the rest laughed at the memory. "How can you guys forget!" she exclaimed with mock hurt.

"That's Nigel Gearsley," Lewis pointed out, the green DB9 Briton nodding slightly, smilingly.

"Shu is…elsewhere," Rip said, and the others unsuccessfully tried stifling snickers at what the statement and what the 'if-you-know-what-I-mean' face implied.

"And this is Miguel Camino." Raoul nudged the golden grand tourer.

"I don't believe I've caught your full name," Nigel said in his formal British accent.

The silver A7 blinked. "My name is Margarita Rodriguez-Stevenson," she replied. "No second name," she added hastily, smiling.

Miguel's idle, indifferent stare flashed open wide. A few stared at him.

"Miguel?" Lewis called slightly. "Anything wrong?"

He blinked slightly. "No, I just…I just remembered something." He relaxed, staring at the A7, his gaze scrutinizing, as the group conversed once more.

How can an American hold such a beautiful name? That name was meant for a European like him, not some…girl that she thinks she could have! More and more negative thoughts started popping up in his mind, filling his heart with spite against her.

She stared at him for a small while before reversing. He scoffed. _Good riddance_, he thought, but a part of him wanted her to stay. The clash between his anger at her and at her leaving resulted in his frustration, and he hissed internally.

Suddenly, someone tapped at his taillights, and he reversed the see her there. He seemed relieved, but he wasn't.

"Hi," she said, almost shyly.

He blinked. "Hello." He wouldn't deprive her of the respect she needs; he doesn't even know her yet.

"You seem lonely," she stated. "You're not talking with the group."

"Well, maybe I just like to listen," her offered, irritation spiking in his tone. He was irritated she bugged him just to bring this up.

But she was barely fazed. "You were staring…elsewhere," she told him.

_Busted_, he thought. "Sometimes, I'm not in the mood to listen, or the subject bores me."

She blinked again. "Are you bored? Of their talk, I mean."

He blinked, too, his irritation fading. Being the critical car that he was, he knew what colorful phrases flew from willing girls' mouths. What was this one getting at? "Maybe."

She smiled. "Me too."

A corner of his mouth twitched, twirling in a small smile, his gaze relaxing. "Did you want a quieter place?"

Her tire extended to the side, gesturing to a direction. "A balcony, perhaps?"

A balcony? That was the last place Miguel would choose for a night! It was open to the public, and people would likely see them there. But she was one of the hosts; she was the one to lead no matter what happened. Discomfort surged though Miguel. He was always the one to lead in this kind of excursion; he preferred dominance over opinion.

Yet, to him, her slightly closed eyes and smile was inviting. _Very inviting._ He extended his own tire. "Lead the way."

She moved forward, turning to drive for the edge of the crowd. She glanced at him in her rearview mirror a few times. Soon enough, they reached the windows, and she pushed open two doors. They swung out, and she gestured to the open night air. He moved forward, and his vivid, fiery colors paled in the silver light of the quarter moon. The sounds of the party disappeared as he stared up at the night sky, the black dotted with the glittering grains of sand that were stars. He could hear the soft purr of her engine in the silence of the night as she sided by him. He glanced sideways at her, only to turn to face her.

Her pale silver paint caught the gentle rays of the moonlight, turning even softer in the moon's pastel radiance. She seemed to glow slightly, and he struggled to find an example to relate this to. What could it be…oh yes; it was like the luster of a silver pearl that caught the rays of the lights as it was displayed. Yes, that was right. She gazed up at the sky, and the angle in which he faced her was so right, he could see how the moonlight illuminated her brown irises, turning them from dark to milk chocolate.

His lips popped open slightly. She looked like Pearle under pale light, but she had his sibling's eyes: Bartolomé's milk chocolate eyes.

She glanced at him to find his awed green stare boring into hers. Her body prickled uneasily as she fidgeted in her shyness.

"So, what exactly did you want to talk about?" she asked awkwardly, glancing away and back.

He blinked and smiled. "About you, if you please," he murmured.

She chuckled timidly. "What did you want to know?"

He moved forward slightly, the corner of his bumper almost touching hers. H knew he couldn't start on her yet. He'd spent more time than usual; too much to actually do anything with her. But he didn't want to really get to know her; he wouldn't risk his heart again.

"Everything," he blurted out. "Anything."

She chuckled again. At least she hadn't seen his puzzled expression at his words. "You can't know everything in one night," she argued smilingly.

"But what if I told you I can?" he replied challengingly.

She narrowed her eyes at him, still smiling. "You can't."

"How would you know?" He glanced away s he brushed his tire over the marble floor, then back at her russet gaze.

She rolled her eyes. "A car's mind is like a computer's random access memory; most of the information is temporarily saved, just like reading a book. Even I can't remember the true details in a story in just one pass."

He chuckled this time. "Really?"

She nodded. "So, where did you like to start?"

"I don't know; did you want to start?" he shot back gently.

She blinked thoughtfully. "It seems cliché to start on interests," she told him.

"Is it?"

"Only if you think so."

This startled Miguel. The girls he's had always relied on him for the final decisions; they never asked his opinion on anything other than accessories.

He stared at her. "Maybe." He then stared out into the night. He hadn't faced a girl like this in years. "I used to love the night; so peaceful," he murmured unconsciously.

She stared out as he did. "'Used to'?" He nodded, and she continued. "For what reason?"

He glanced at her as she did at him. He guessed he could trust her. "I've had so much hardship in my life," he told her slowly, taking note of his words. \

"In what way?"

He winced as hurtful memories flooded his mind. "Heartbreak, loss, separation." Those words were broad, but contained much.

"Me too."

His gaze whipped back to hers, nearly astounded. No girl could have possibly related!

She glanced at him and saw his questioning stare. "My father died before I was twenty. I never saw my mother after fifteen. I haven't heard from my friends. And I never found love," she said softly. She didn't weaken or wince. "I mean, I haven't found myself a boyfriend yet."

"Not once?"

She shook he front. "Never."

He felt pity for her. He had his first relationship at the young age of fifteen, and he'd taken things for granted since. He hadn't known how living alone really felt. Tercio and Benedicto had been there nearly every step of the way. But there was another factor.

"No siblings?"

She shook her hood. "I'm an only child." She stared at him, smiling sadly.

He felt so sad right then and there. No one took care of her as she grew up. She'd been alone, whereas he'd had company all his life.

"The only friends I have now are you guys, my only family the Bernoullis," she put in, and he could see her windshield glisten under the pale light. "I provide for my new family as much as I can, even though Francesco can do that by himself." She chuckled at the last part. "You can say I've found family and friends now, and although it may sound cliché, I'm still looking for that special someone."

"…are you?" He seemed interested in that part.

"Yeah." She swallowed slightly, and there was a pause. "What about you?"

He blinked. "What about me?" Surely she didn't expect him to be the one for her right then and there, did she?

"I thought you had problems?"

"Oh." He stared out again, wishing he hadn't brought this up. "My, er, brother is lost."

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

She shrugged it away. "I'm sure I'll find him again someday."

"It must be sad to lose a sibling," she murmured.

"What do you know about it?" he retorted, his tone hard. He couldn't believe she was trying to be sympathetic; she didn't even know what it felt! "You're alone in this world, without an inch of an immediate family."

"My father was a great car!" she spat. "My mother loved me!" She blinked, and water ran down her fenders. "I can't believe I even tried being kind to you!"

His eyes widened in alarm. He hadn't meant it that way! "I'm sorry!" he called aloud, siding by her gently, his side against hers and eliciting comfort. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean any harm," he said in a soothing voice.

She glanced sideways at him, sniffling softly before blinking the wetness away. "Don't do that, please; I'm a little sensitive."

"I won't," he murmured, pressing close. "I won't."

His softness was all she needed for release. She sniffled again, and leaned on him. "It's been so hard, losing Dad," she told him. "No one to help me in college. I had to work so hard for my doctorate…," she continued, and he didn't do anything to stop her. "My mother…she believed I would be a great car."

"Hush, I'm sorry," he whispered as she cried for her lost parents. As far as he knew, his own were still alive and well, and he didn't send them so much as a note or a flower during a special day. "I'm sorry."

It was a few moments before she recomposed herself. "I'm sorry that happened."

"We all have our hardships, some worse than others," he replied.

She smiled gratefully at him before he wrenched himself out of her touch. He hadn't realized how he liked her length along his, her warmth against his, her softness in many aspects touching his heart and more. He stared up._ Is she the one? _he prayed silently.

He hadn't any news if his brother was dead or still alive, but a gentle breeze blew, making his body tingle in the cold, but his heart soothed slightly. He felt it was a sign.

He blinked. "I think I'll tell the rest next time."

She chuckled, and his spirits lifted. "Next time," she agreed.

He chuckled with her, and frowned slightly as he stared out. Why was it so engaging to talk to her? Why did he like talking to her? Why now did he open up his feelings to someone he just met?

"Are you alright?" he heard her say.

He glanced back to see her gaze of worried brown. "I'll be fine," he reassured her.

_Reassured?_ Reassurance wasn't his thing; he was more commanding than that! He wasn't soft…or is he turning soft?

"I heard you were making the arrangements of the _encierro_ already," she offered. "Well, not you, but…you get the point."

He stared at her with wide eyes. How can an American know about the Sanfermínes festival, and how can she pronounce it as a Spanish should?

"Isn't it a little early to be making the arrangements?"

He noted her eyes sort of shone at the mention of the tradition. "How do you know about the Festivál de San Fermín?"

She stared out awkwardly. "I've lived with Spanish culture all my life," she replied.

More and more curious…. "What country?"

She stared at him, surprise mild in her eyes. "Didn't you study Spanish colonization period?"

"I seem to have forgotten," he said sheepishly.

She shook her front with mock disappointment, but she smiled. "The Philippines had experienced three hundred years of the Spanish monarch, until we finally revolted."

"Did you ever wish that you hadn't revolted?"

Her gaze was amused. "Would I be standing here if we still were?"

His smile returned to his lips. "Good point."

They chuckled. "But why…uphold…the country that imprisoned you?" he asked.

"Because currently, it's better than ours."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Let's just say I have my reasons," she replied. "But I'll tell you one thing: I can't say no country or government is perfect, but after about sixteen years of living there, it gets…tiring."

"So you're…?"

"Filipino," she replied. "Even if I'm out of my country though, I'm still proud to be so."

He blinked questioningly, pointedly glancing a the insignia of Audi on her hood.

"Oh," she breathed, chuckling. "My father is Audi," she told him. "I rather inherited the manufacturer from him." She brushed her tire over the marble floor. "I'm more my father than I am my mother."

He nodded in understanding. "We were talking about you interest in the Sanfermínes Festival?"

"Oh, yes." She chuckled slightly.

"What about it that interests you so much?" He was eager to hear her opinion in the old sport and tradition he so loved.

"I don't know; I've always seen Spanish-style bullfights on TV, she said. "Upon research, the encierro is the one where the public is most involved. The festival seems fun, too."

He stared at her. She was a lot different from other cars. She was engaging to talk to, and they could relate to a lot of things.

"It's…engaging to watch," she replied, "even if the dozer is to be killed."

He glanced down to his tire as he brushed it over the marble, then back to her as he spoke. "Do you know what's the famous symbolism of the torero in romance?"

She met his slightly smiling gaze. "That he's looked up to as a hero, romantic or otherwise?"

She smiled at him, and he returned it with his. "What if I told you I was one once?"

Her eyes widened. "You were?"

He nodded, eyes serious yet smiling. "I was."

"Wow." She paused as she stared at him. "That's awesome."

"Is that so?" His tone may have been calm, but he was as startled as ever. She knew the glamorous and dangerous life of a matador, but she didn't know how much.

"Yeah, I mean, you get to prove your bravery times over," she told him. "And you get pined over your work," she muttered. Was that envy in her voice?

"Maybe, but you also get to risk your life," he replied as softly. He was slightly hurt.

"Oh." She seemed to be put in her place. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't know," he replied quietly. He stared at her, his green gaze gentle, and a corner of her lips twitched up slightly.

"You're nice, you know that?" she murmured.

His own maw stretched to a full-blown smile, but he didn't really know if he should take it in a good way or not.

Suddenly, the sounds of the party behind them intensified, and they reversed, turning, to see Marlene there.

"Margo?" she asked. "I've been looking for you."

The silver Audi cocked her front to the side. "What for?"

"I was worried when I found you away from Francesco's side," she said. "_Buona sera_, Miguel," she greeted the grand tourer.

Miguel dipped his front. "_Buenas tardes_, _Señora _Bernoulli."

Marlene only nodded at him in reply. "What are you doing out here?" she asked her younger cousin gently.

"Ah, er," Margo stammered, eyes wide, and her cousin put on a knowing look. "No! It's not that!"

"M-hm." Marlene's tone was suggestive and suspicious, and her expression was very amused.

"No!" the younger Audi cried out in panic.

The mother only laughed. "You know I'm just teasing," she told her cousin. "Now, won't you handle Gianfranco for a moment; I've been watching him for hours and Francesco is still entertaining."

Margo only laughed. "As usual."

"As usual," the mother agreed. "Now, Francesco is with his father, mind you."

"Will do,"she replied," and the mother went off.

"Well, I better go; Francesco will find it's no fun with his father," she added, chuckling.

He smiled. "Alright."

She nodded, excusing herself quietly. He bit his lip as his gaze followed her taillights. She'd earned his respect and his friendship in ways he hadn't thought of before, and the sensuality was not a part of it.

"Oh, and Miguel," he heard her say, and she turned to stare at him. His eyes widened in reply. "Have a good evening." She then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

His lip popped open slightly. Nobody ever said that kind of thing to him, at least, not in years. Things were getting more and more interesting, and Miguel couldn't pull himself out of the depths of curiosity he was in.

* * *

_Bah! x_x Exhausted myself with dialogue! xD Is not sorry for long chapter! xDD  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Did you now, **pizzachic**? xD That's awesome then; I appreciate that. ^-^ || Well, technically, nobody is perfect; if you went back to Italian Love, you'll find Francesco with almost the same thing. I can't stereotype a career, but it's an effect from what I predict, you know? I mean, I've seen a lot of famous artists having a wild side; this is Rodrigo's._

_Traditionally, I'd wait for **Pancake**, but then again, I'd like to upload this for Mere. :/**  
**_

_Sorry for the long details, **Mere**; I really love writing those. n_nU And yes, that was a LOL part/line for me. xD_

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

He chuckled. He was beside himself in shock and amazement.

He returned to the crowd and the party, siding by his friend Raoul and Rip once more.

"Where have you been?" Raoul asked the Spaniard. "We've been wondering where you'd gone!"

Rip only blinked. "Miguel, you look…you look weird," he told his friend. "What happened?"

"Eh?" His friends' concerns mildly broke through his thoughts. "I'm fine," he told them.

His friends eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.

Soon enough, it was time everyone went home as the party came to a close. Everyone had enjoyed the food, drinks, fames and talk, and left quite happy. The entire family was exhausted, and requested those who would stay for two weeks for help, which was just as well for Miguel. As Marlene settled Franco in his room, Francesco, Margo and the rest of the family and friends fixed up the Bernoulli grand ballroom.

"Why you ever had a grand ballroom made I'll never know," the A7 grumbled.

"That's how things are, Margo," her cousin-in-law replied. She sighed, and a few only laughed and smiled.

"Is it always like this?" Rip asked her.

"Well, with me, it is," she replied, and others laughed as Francesco rolled his eyes.

Soon enough, Miguel caught Margo alone, and took this chance to strike up conversation. But what to talk about?

"You seem affectionate with the Bernoullis," he told her.

She smiled. "After living nearly three years with them, it's easy to be so," she replied.

"About Francesco," he started, "is he still as…well, stupid…as he used to be?" She shot him a glare, and he elaborated hastily. "I mean, does he still do crazy things?"

"Sometimes, but you can say Marlene tame him," she replied, her glare disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. "Well, she's the only one who can, that's for sure," she grumbled.

She chuckled as he did, glancing at him with smiling brown eyes. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.

"Can I help?" he offered.

"No, I can handle it."

He knew better than to insist; he barely knew her, after all. But it felt rude he wasn't able to do anything for her as he stood there, watching. He sort of admired her dedication to her work, even if she must be exhausted. And knowing this, he knew he had to help.

"Let me help," he insisted. "You're exhausted."

She stared at him, and he could see weariness dotting her indecision. She then nodded, and together, they pushed the tables away. He felt pretty much happy to help; it left a happy, fluttering impression in his heart. Suddenly though, there was a loud pop, and she squeaked, pressing close to Miguel's side, glancing about wildly in her surprise.

He, too, felt surprise at the pop, but it was mixed with a sort-of wave of affection and security—one to make sure she was fine. It seemed as natural as breathing, the way the latter emotion flowed. He could feel her tremble as she stared around. He glanced at her, his tire moving to touch hers comfortingly.

"Sorry," Jeff Gorvette called out. "Lewis and I found an extra popper."

Many grumbled, slightly angry. Beside him, Margo sighed in relief.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded. "I'll be fine." There was a beat. "I just hate getting startled out of my skin." He chuckled, and she moved away slightly. "Sorry."

"No need," he murmured in reply.

As they finished cleaning up, some had gone as a result of nothing more to do. Miguel wasn't one of them, and this surprised him slightly.

"So, I will be able to see you again, won't I?" he asked her. He frowned at his expectant tone.

She only chuckled. "Of course you will," she told him smilingly. "Why?"

"Nothing, I just…I just wanted to make sure," he stammered.

She smiled at him, and he cursed silently. He wasn't usually like this; why would such a girl make him act this way? But then, as he recalled the night's events, maybe there was a reason. She was someone he cold share his secrets to. She was open to anything he had to say, not judging, not determining what kind of car he was. And in the last few years of his life, he had been judged as a famed car, one who didn't need friendship from an ordinary car. He didn't want to be judged for what he was, for what the media portrayed him; he wanted the people to judge him based on what he said, based on how he portrayed himself. And this girl trusted him, not the Internet.

"You'll be back tomorrow," she reassured him, moving to nudge her corner bumper gently with her own.

He hadn't realized how aghast he must have looked, and only nodded. He would see her again tomorrow. He brightened at that, and smiled.

She seemed to look happier as she spoke. "You had better go; it's late, and we'll be early tomorrow."

He only nodded again, still in quite a daze.

"Miguel, let's go," Rip called. "Good night, Margo."

She dipped her front slightly. "Good night, Margo."

The Rearendian nudged his friend. "Come on, Miguel," he repeated, and with one last moment, the Spaniard tore his gaze away, following his friend out.

"What were you doing with her?" Rip asked as they drove back to their hotel. "You know she's untouchable."

Miguel blinked. "Untouchable?"

"No, you can sleep with her all you want," he replied sarcastically. "The last time Raoul tried flirting in public was the day Francesco freaked out in front of all of us." The younger racer shuddered. "I do _not_ want to go back in time to that for you."

Mildly Miguel was startled the Frenchman would try such a thing. "What day was that?"

"You know, the day Luigi, Guido and Marlene fell in shock at his words," Rip reminded him. "You don't remember that?" Miguel blinked, struggling to remember, but nothing popped up. "Everyone fell silent and his voice was raised above everyone else's?"

"Ohh, yeah." Francesco had disrupted Miguel's comment that night to another girl he was trying to hook away from the sea of cars, and Miguel could barely understand what the Italian was saying. The Spaniard frowned at the memory. "_That_ night."

"So I trust you won't get on Francesco's nerves?" Rip asked.

"Sure," Miguel replied. "I won't."

He would be more careful than his French friend, that was sure.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey guys. :) I just decided to skip the breakfast chapter; I was getting bored and wanted to move on, and besides, I don't have the sufficient research on international cuisine. xD_

_I think you were just being too kind, _**_pizzachic_**_. :) But thanks anyway. ^-^_

_Note a change in Ch.3, fellows! A brand new idea for blushing coming up! xD And sorry for the details, _**_Mere_**_, but I wanted to describe her room. xD_

* * *

**_Chapter Eight_**

Beautiful Porto Corsa presents itself as a grand yet humble town; a perfect tourist spot at the city of Genoa that was home to the Italian Riviera. clean, pristine beaches, large and grand casinos, and the beautiful and natural countryside are just three of the best things to see at Porto Corsa, Italy.

The aim for the day was to show the others close and common places for meals, as well as groceries and convenience stores, though it didn't take up the entire day. Marlene and Sally had agreed to stay at the Bernoulli home to tend to the children. Soon, the friends were done before the clock had even struck two in the afternoon. Francesco then decided to advance the tour of a small part of Porto Corsa to that day, but they first stopped to have a small snack.

"Don't you have work, Margo?" Jeff asked out of nowhere. "Just asking; I don't mean to offend."

The A7 chuckled. "None taken," she replied. "But I told the company I'd have a two-week vacation to entertain guests." Her face turned a little sad then. "My staff wasn't so happy about that."

"You work as…?"

"As a supervisor. But I pitch in when I can."

Max stared at her. "So all those tips you gave me…."

She nodded. "They're all _my _experience."

Miguel was only mildly interested. Engineering hadn't really been his thing.

"Well, any suggestions about what part we should head next?" Francesco asked.

There were murmurs, but no definite answers.

"Well, I'd like to go him," Margo called. "Not to put a damper on your day," she added as they stared at her, "but I've been up all night last night and all morning long."

Miguel blinked, confused. She'd been lively all morn, talking to the racers and offering conversation. But as he took a closer look at her, which he'd been avoiding since he first saw her at the Bernoulli home, he realized how haggard she looked in the early afternoon light. He felt sorry for her; she'd been working probably since before the party, and maybe well before he got up that morn.

When he arrived at Francesco's for the sponsored morning meal, he found her setting up the table that soon filled with breakfast dishes from all over the world. Soon after he and his friends had arrived, more of the racers filed in with mutual friends. As well as the rest of the family that came together over three years ago, he too had enjoyed tasting every morsel of the several dishes set in front of the cars. He figured it had been Francesco who did all the work, but it was not so.

"Well, even if I can cook, I couldn't do it with my cousin-in-law; she was the one who did most of the dishes," he told them. "Even if it was under my—ahem—leadership," he chuckled, and others did the same She ducked her front shyly, brown eyes glittering with pride at the same time.

Everyone murmured consent, and she looked to Francesco, who nodded. She smiled at everyone else as they bid her good-by. She then drove out of the shop.

Suddenly, without thinking, Miguel's mind thought up of a way to get out of here before anything else. "Francesco," he called, approaching the Formula car, "I'm not feeling too well. May I retreat to the hotel?"

Francesco's eyes were wide with surprise. "How long have you been feeling that way?" he asked.

"Since this morning," Miguel replied quickly. He itched to get past Francesco's scrutinizing stare. "It must have been something I had last night." He wouldn't blame the morning meal this time.

Francesco blinked, still bewildered, but gave his consent as well, and Miguel slid past the group.

"Smooth," Raoul murmured with a grin, and the tourer only shrugged it away with a snort.

When he was past the shop's windows, he raced away to catch up to her. "Hey," he huffed as he sided by the A7. She stared at him, startled, as she stopped. He halted alongside her. "Is there anything wrong?

"Didn't you want to join them?" she asked.

"Francesco wanted me to make sure you were alright; I've seen Porto Corsa enough times." _At least, the major parts, anyway, but what does that matter?_ he added silently.

"Oh." She looked startled as ever. "I'm fine, really." She sounded flustered. "You don't have to do anything."

Fro some reason, he liked how she sounded: worried. Worried about him, that is, about if he should exert effort over such a girl like her. Barely anyone ever cared what effort Miguel put into his activities.

But, being the typical male he was, he would contradict her, trying to impress. "No, I don't mind," he replied smilingly.

She blinked at him for a few moments before speaking. "Alright." Her tone was soft, almost inviting, and his head swam with a sort of happiness he couldn't explain. She moved on, and he sided quietly by her.

"It's nice, you know, in the autumn," she murmured. "Warm and sunny."

"Not in the summer?"

"Not really," she replied, "but it still is better than living near the equator."

"How so?"

"Out of the sun, it's a freakishly hot thirty-two degrees Centigrade," she said. "But in the sun, it can reach a whopping forty-two."

"What!" he exclaimed. It was that hot?

"At least, that's at around May." She paused for a moment, glancing upwards thoughtfully. "Then the rainy season stats, and the temperature drops to twenty-seven." She resumed driving.

"Really?"

"Yes." She glanced away. "Which may well be one of the other reasons I moved to Italy."

He blinked. "Why did you move to Italy, anyway?" She frowned suddenly, and his eyes widened. "I didn't mean to offend!" he put in quickly.

"No, I just…I don't think I'm ready to share that yet," she told him sadly.

"No, that's alright," he replied, fighting to keep the dismay from his tone. "I don't mind."

She smiled gratefully, and they drove in awkward silence.

_Say something, you fool! _a small voice sounded in his ears.

"Erm, I haven't formally thanked you for such a good breakfast," he blurted out randomly. "I enjoyed it." He smiled as she glanced at him.

She smiled back. "You're welcome," she replied.

He felt something flare in his chest at her soft brown gaze, but he couldn't put a name on it.

As they rounded the corner to the secluded Bernoulli home a heartbeat later, she turned so she can thank him for the escort and tell him he could go, but instead of what she thought to say, her lips were twitching instead at the sight before her. He blinked in confusion.

"What's so funny?" he asked her.

It was like she struggled not to laugh. "Your headlights are on," she said in a restrained voice.

He glanced down to find his brand-new LED lights glowing, even in the day, and fought to shut them off. Her lips had formed a small smile as he glanced back at her. The more he stared at her, the harder it was to keep his lights shut.

"You're cute when you flush," she told him.

"I do not!" he defended, but his headlights glowed slightly at his release of words, effectively once more as he looked quite put out.

"Don't be so offended," she told him quickly. "A lot of cars do that."

He stared at her, unsure. "Really?"

"Yeah. Even I've been known to do that," she told him shamelessly. "Everyone has limitations, Miguel. Even me."

His gaze was more grateful now than sad or other, and he was able to smile again.

She turned around to open the doors of the home, and she was greeted by the family butler.

"Giacomo," she nodded.

Giacomo's head bowed. "_Signorina_," he replied formally, quietly. "_Signore _Camino."

Miguel only nodded in reply as he followed her in. "Are you sure I can come in?"

She paused, her earlier statement forgotten completely by his stunt. "Er, of course," she replied just as Marlene appeared.

"Margo, you—oh." The lady of the home stared at Miguel, surprised. "What's he…?"

"Francesco sent him to escort me here," she replied casually. "Although he really didn't feel like going on with the tour because he's seen much of it."

He glanced at her in surprise. How on earth did she know about that, he wondered to himself. _Is she a mind reader?_

Marlene blinked, also surprised, but said nothing. "And you?"

"I've exhausted myself," Margo said simply.

The older cousin smirked gently. "You always were willing to help when you can."

Margo only shrugged smilingly. "It's a habit."

Marlene sighted. "Go on upstairs and rest; you've earned it. I'll handle our guest down here."

"If I may speak out, _Señora_," he started, "I'd like to see her to her room."

Both women were startled by this, Margo even more so, and slightly inched back as she saw her LED daytime running lights reflecting dimly off the marble floor. Marlene, however, was then as startled as her cousin as Audi's signature DRL's lit upon the A& front, and Marlene's eyes widened slightly.

At the awkward pause, Miguel backtracked, and realized how wrong his statement sounded. He panicked slightly. "I mean, I just wanted to make sure she's alright."

_Signora_ Bernoulli blinked sympathetically, gaze softening. "Alright."

The A7's panicked brown gaze flicked to Marlene's, hidden from Miguel's view. But the mother-cousin didn't see it.

"You may go," Marlene said, dismissing them, and she turned to leave.

Miguel then headed for the grand staircase. "Come on, he encouraged, turning to her slightly, expecting to meed lively brown, only to find her eyes wide with shock and in thought. Worry slunk on to his chassis as he approached her slowly. HE was about to say something, but her lit light-emitting diodes caught his attention. Suddenly, the phrase in his mind was gone, and he blurted out, "Your headlights are on."

She glanced at him, eyes still worried, but it was only for a split-second. She smiled sheepishly soon after. "I told you I was known to do that," she told him weakly.

He chuckled softly as he moved forward to touch his corner bumper to hers. Her gaze softened, and her lights started to fade. She yawned though, and he chuckled again.

"Come on," he urged, and he led her upstairs, yet, he didn't know which room was hers.

It was her turn to laugh as she led the way to her room, murmuring a number that struck him hard.

"_One-six-five-two,_" she whispered before the wooden panel slid open, to his amazement.

"It's pass-protected for a reason, but only when I want it locked. They don't know what the number is," she added in a murmur, and he chuckled, knowing she must love her privacy. "Although Francesco preferred a traditional swinging door, I wanted traditional and modern styles in a mix." She smiled. "A result of engineering, you might say."

He chuckled as they entered, the sliding door slipping shut. His mouth popped open slightly as he stared around.

The ceiling was just about half the height of the walls and windows that stretched from the ground floor to the second floor, and made the room just over bigger than the average home's. The walls were of the same homely, yet lively, soft ecru. Along the length of one wall, though, was shelf after shelf of books, the books filling every space available in a well-arranged way. The tops of the wooden bookcases were roughly a few feet lower than the ceiling, although it looked more like just a few inches. He wondered how she could reach all of those when he spotted a robotic-like arm and a beam that stretched along the length of the bookcases. To the shelves' left was a balcony that faced the west, the curtained threshold just opposite the door.

To another wall was a modernized desk, with a full-blown desktop—a central processing unit, a liquid crystal display monitor, a wireless mouse, a digital subscriber line, a Bluetooth mouse and an ergonomic keyboard—and a bunch of office supplies such as pens and papers, all arranged neatly on the pale cherry wood. A tall lamp was to the side with its bulb hovering over the workspace.

Opposite the desk though, was her bed, placed in a corner. But that wasn't the highlight of that nook.

Posters dominated the walls. The ones just above the headboard caught his eyes first, and the pictures ranged from favorite singers and bands to supported teams in motorsport, Formula One being the most dominant. He chuckled as he recognized a few teams: Mercedes-McLaren, Red Bull Racing, and Ferrari. With each racing team were their racers, and he didn't know she honored Fernando Alonso. To the wall at the side of her bed though, were dynamic, dramatic photos, posters and postcards about various countries, but what dominated the crazy collage were those of his homeland, Spain.

He stared in awe as he caught sight of many familiar must-sees, like Madrid, Barcelona, Catalunya and Valencia, but these seemed to just be in the background. Images of the traditional Sanfermínes festival, the three stages of Spanish-style bullfighting, as well as a few famous modern matadors. And a few of them, including at least two medium-sized posters, were of him.

He hadn't known she would be a fan of his. She didn't look like a fan of his, nor did she talk like one.

He surveyed the rest of the room, and noted a bedside table containing a small lamp and a simple clock-radio.

A voice shook him from his thoughts. "Is there anything wrong?" she asked.

He glanced at her. "Hm? No, I was just…looking."

He heard her chuckle as she sided by him. "Any which one you preferred?"

"That one," he replied, leaning towards her as he stared at one of her posters smilingly.

"Really?" she murmured. "Mine, too."

He grinned sheepishly. "I…I hadn't realized you were a fan." He almost added, _that you liked me._

She chuckled once, shyly. "I'd only found out months ago," she told him. "And, well…I caught on, I guess." There was painful silence, though. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," he replied quickly.

She smiled gratefully, and he reversed out of the space. She was surprised and worried, but the feelings faded as she caught him staring up at her bookshelves. She sided by him once more.

"Damn," he murmured. "You have a lot of books."

"I loved to read as a child," she put in. "That side is for textbooks," she gestured to the left, "and those are reading books: fiction, nonfiction, you name it." She gestured to the right.

"Wow," he mouthed. "Any genre you preferred?"

"Romance, but I'll try anything once."

_So she's a romantic,_ he concluded. _Is that why she's being so sweet with me?_

"So you believe there's someone out there for you?"

"Well, yes," she said guiltily. "Isn't that what all romantics think?"

He blinked. "Maybe."

"…do you?" she shot back smilingly.

"Do I what?"

"Do you believe there's someone out there for you?"

He glanced at her smilingly. "Maybe."

She chuckled softly before deviating from his gaze.

"How would you know," he started, and her gaze returned to his, "if that car is the one for you?"

"Well," she started, unsure, "I think it's because there's something about that car that struck you the most, something about her that changed your life or something like that." She paused. "I mean, how can you love someone if there's nothing special about them?"

Miguel blinked, and his thoughts flashed back to the past. What, really, did he like about Pearle? Oh, that was right: she was incessantly beautiful to him, at least. She was sweet, the way she talked; caring when she was worried. But how did she worry about him? Oh, that was right: she worried dramatically, more squeaky than gently. _Was that a good thing?_he wondered.

"Miguel?" a soft voice shook him from his thoughts, and he stared into dark brown.

The way she called him, it seemed right. It resonated in his ears, making his head float away in bliss. It showed concern than just catching his attention. At this realization, he wondered if what he was feeling is love.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said as he blinked at her, now out of his trance.

"You…you stared at me like you were…."

"Like I was what?"

"Like you were in a trance," she continued. "You alright?"

"Yes, I am," he told her slightly. "Why?" _Why do you care?_ he added silently.

"I thought something's gone wrong," she replied. In their closeness, he could feel her tremble as she closed her eyes for a moment.

He pressed his side to hers. "You don't have to be," he murmured.

She looked at him once before pressing against him and closing her eyes.

A rush of affection surged through him, and he sighed quietly, staring at her with a softened gaze and a relatively blank mind. All there was in his thoughts was her.

Yet, soon enough, her breathing turned regular, and a soft snore escaped from deep within her throat. He chuckled, and let his own eyes rest as he was reassured by the closed door.

The next time he opened his eyes it was already late afternoon. Golden sunlight filtered through the open doors of the west balcony, the white sheer curtains flowing with the incoming breeze. He glanced around for a watch, and someone beside him moved.

He stilled. He usually did someone at night and left in the morning; why is it late afternoon?

He stole a glance down at the girl. A pale silver executive car. But then, why should he choose an _executive car_?

But, as he faced the shelf after shelf of books in front of him, he remembered, and sighed sadly. He can't think of her that way, he just can't!

Yet, how can he not as her peaceful form lent serenity to his heart? He slid out of reach slowly, quietly, and glanced at her clock-radio. Five-thirty in the evening. Perhaps it was time for dinner.

He sided by her again, and his tire nudged hers gently. Then he swallowed. It was hard enough to think about her name, let alone pronounce it; both actions stirred many emotions and a round of lightning LED's. But he just had to call her to wake her up.

"Margo," he called softly. "Margo, wake up."

She moaned softly, and her silver lids fluttered open. She glanced at him, brown eyes clouded with sleep, having flashed with alarm, confusion and worry, relaxed with minimal confusion. "What time is it?" she asked as she blinked sleep from her eyes.

"Five-thirty," he replied gently.

"Has anyone…?"

"I don't think so."

She breathed in relief. "Thank goodness."

"Why? What's wrong?" he asked out of curiosity. _Might as well confirm what Rip's told me._

She stared at him for a quick moment. "Nothing" was her casual reply. "I better get going," she told him, reversing out of her place. "Francesco will wonder where I am."

"What's next for the day, at any rate?" he asked her.

"A group dinner," she said, then a kind of 'relaxing-by-the-fire' thing, you know, group and private conversations with a few drinks."

He only nodded. He can't catch her alone tonight. But maybe, just maybe..._no._ He'll ask her tomorrow.

Though dinner was lively and engaging, Miguel was quiet all throughout. Everyone's places earlier that morning: the McQueens and Bernoullis at one end of the table, the rest of the racers filing in random seats, Margo and Miguel seated just across each other at the opposite end, with Rip and Raoul seated beside them both. The A7 was fighting to keep her headlights off and her feelings down by joining the conversation. Miguel was the same, but only smiled through the conversation. But he knew he couldn't possibly escape his two friends.

As soon as everyone gathered in the so-called living room—which was, to others' disbelief, the size of a regular living room, with cushioned couches, a carpet and a glass coffee table—with a true fireplace, Raoul and Rip ambushed their friend.

"So, what happened?" Rip asked sweetly.

"What happened?" Miguel replied coolly, but inwardly, the Spaniard was afraid what his friends would ask.

"What happened to you and Margo, silly," Raoul continued. "We didn't see you at the hotel, so we figured you'd fool—"

"—you'd be at the Bernoulli home," Rip growled the continuation at his friend, glaring openly. "And we were wondering what happened to you both."

"Nothing 'happened'," Miguel snapped, the last word dripping with suggestion. "We just…slept together," he said softly.

"We knew it!" the two shouted ecstatically before shutting their mouths and glancing around to see everyone staring their way.

"Literally," Miguel continued flatly, eyes narrowed. "And don't assume next time."

"Alright, fine," Rip shrugged, waving his tire away.

As Miguel glanced elsewhere for a moment, forest colors met, and Miguel found Margo smiling at him, tapping her glass lightly in a slight toast. He smiled back, tapping his own glass to return the favor. His friends saw though.

"Ooh, someone's flirting!" Rip teased softly, and he and Raoul burst in laughter. Miguel's hiss only made them laugh louder.

But the grand tourer couldn't help thinking, was he really flirting with her? Did he allow her to flirt with him? Did she really like him?

At the moment, he didn't know the answers, but he had the gut feeling he'd know.

* * *

_Whew, finally done! 8D I hope 3k+ words are worth the wait! xD_


	9. Chapter 9

_I really hate creating tech, but this is the best I can do. But it's fiction, after all. :)_

_Ending a Race Sunday has been edited, fellows. :) Just a heads-up. ^-^" I didn't mean to put this up as an ad or whatever tho...so beware! D8_

_Hehe, I figured they'd be great friends despite the competitiveness, **Pancake**...xD_

* * *

_**Chapter Nine**_

"Alright guys, gather round; we've an announcement!" Margo's voice sounded in the headset system that had been provided for them, and the racers gathered round, as well as other cars who had been invited to watch.

As common places of tourism had been exhausted in the four days allotted for it, the cars moved on to another part of the agenda: a practice day. Francesco announced the local track open for practice, and everyone was excited for the next day.

Everyone stared at the four-door coupe with a single headphone with a microphone positioned near her mouth. "Petro Cartalina, Giuseppe Motorosi and Otto Bonn are here to help you boys fix up your techniques today," Margo announced aloud, gesturing to each of the European crew chiefs at the mention of their names. "You may wonder why I'm here, muttering 'Why should a simple little exec be here to help us?'" she squeaked the question, and the others chuckled. "Yeah, well, can any of them speak straight English like you fellows?" She glared at them slightly as the rest muttered assent. "I'm here not just because of the tech, but because I'm here to translate, am I clear with that?" The rest nodded, and she reached for a panel.

"Alright, there's a little thing about this new tech I'm testing today," she said, and switched on a green light on the panel. "You won't be able to hear what any of us will be saying if not directed to you."

"How do we know?" Max inquired, interest piqued.

"Simple," she said. "If any of those with an administrator-recognized headset say a name that should be registered with a name or number, for example Max's number four or his first or last name, then the rest of the headsets will shut down except the one with the code for the headphone line to remain open. It's geeky, I know," she said as she noticed sighing in the crowd, "but this is the simplest explanation."

"Can I see how it works?" Max asked. "I mean, I still can't believe how anyone could code this."

Margo rolled her eyes, obviously irritated. "Rip," she called, and all static from Max's headset died, "any point of interest in Porto Corsa?"

"Erm," Rip stammered, startled he would be the one she would choose, "I love its coastline."

She fixed her gaze on Max again, gaze and smile suggesting, See?

"Wunderbar," Max whispered in awe as she flicked the headsets for a general listening.

"Now go fix all your settings; the gates open in a few minutes!" she called, and the cars scattered.

As he settled in with his favorite settings, new tires and a tank full of petrol, Miguel relaxed, and focused on racing against his friends. Yet, the sight of her silver body under the brilliant sunlight and the sound of her voice as she translated Giuseppe's and Otto's tips lingered in his focus, and soon, all he thought about was impressing her.

"Rodrigo, your timing is off!" Petro snarled into the radio as Miguel made a late turn.

"Sorry," he growled in frustration, reclaiming his focus on the trace. He'd glanced into the pits at the straight containing the finish line, trying to catch her attention. Rip and Raoul had passed him, laughing triumphantly and teasingly.

"Ooh, we know why!" Rip called into the radio, glancing at Miguel in his rearview mirror.

"Oh, oh!" Raoul put in. "Don't blow his top, Rip!"

"Why you—"

"Miguel," a female voice snapped at him, "you would do well to focus on where you're going."

"Sorry," he repeated.

"And Rip, Raoul," she continued, "you both better do better than you both think you are!"

"Yes, Margo," the two friends replied.

"So, she put you in your places, eh?" Miguel sneered as he sided by his friends momentarily, and he laughed triumphantly at their confusion as he passed them completely.

The day dragged on. The racers reviewed their performance over the TV sets from recordings. Older racers in the field gave their own tips and observations to the younger, less experienced then them. As the near-exhausted drivers took a break, someone had decided to take up a challenge.

"Marlene, think you can help me out?" Margo nudged her cousin. "So long as you're still able to go a hundred-fifty miles, that is."

Miguel's hearing pricked. What was she suggesting?

"Are you sure, Margo?" the mother asked.

"While I'm still young," the A7retorted smilingly. "Come on! It's the only day I'll be able to race; you won't deprive me of this opportunity, will you?"

"Maybe," Marlene replied. "You're only an executive car, Margo. You can only go so fast."

"But there's no reason I can't try," she reasoned. "Please?"

Miguel only stiffened, as did a few of the rest. It was dangerous to race: you could crash, lose control, or worse, break down on the track. He wouldn't wish that on her, even if he barely knew her. What would Marlene say?

"No," Francesco said finally. "I won't allow it."

"But—"

The Italian fixed her with a hard glare that even Miguel shied away from it in fear. "Okay," she squeaked as she winced, moving away, and Francesco turned back with an unamused expression.

Miguel heaved a silent sigh of relief, relaxing. Only then had he noticed how much his chassis ached from tensing.

"Why don't we get cleaned up and rest?" Marlene suggested as Margo stalked away into the garages.

Mindlessly, Miguel turned to follow her into the garage, where he found her taillights to him. The sounds of his friends faded behind him as he turned deeper into the closed space. She was muttering indignantly, and it was evident in her rearview mirror she hadn't noticed him, until he drew closer, the soft rumble of his engine making her glance into his reflection.

She raised her voice. "Miguel," she murmured, restrained. Her rearview mirror adjusted to view him fully. "Did you want something?" Her voice was dangerously quiet.

"No." He was quiet as her. "You're upset, aren't you?" he blurted out.

She scoffed, eyes rolling as she turned back to the panel in front of her. "Who wouldn't?" she murmured. "I've wanted to try doing a straight since when? Since I wanted to be an engineer?"

"But what Francesco said is just right," he told her. "He's concerned."

"But that doesn't mean I can't see for myself," she said stubbornly, voice tight.

"But that's what he doesn't want, exactly," he went on. "He doesn't want to see you hurt."

"I'm not his daughter!" she called, stopping in her tracks. "He's not responsible for what I do."

"But he can't help feeling that way," he told her. Just as Petro can't help feeling that way for me.

"Well, maybe he should!" She turned on him, her brown glare piercing him. "Maybe he should let me see for myself, just how hard I can hit the wall, because you can't ever experience anything if you don't try it!" she spat.

Dismay filled him, showing in his gaze. He didn't expect her to be like this, a seemingly sweet car that was a fierce lioness inside. As they exchanged stares for a while though, she softened, and she sighed as she sank on her suspension.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, almost grudgingly. "I didn't mean to snap that way. I was just…I was just upset, that's all." She turned away from him, embarrassed by her outburst.

There were no words to explain his surprise, but her moved to nearly side by her, his eyes searching for hers. It took him a while to form a sentence. "I didn't mean for you to get mad," he told her. Stupidest excuse, Rodrigo! But he continued. "I just wanted and hoped you understood."

But he had failed to notice she was crying now, and only now had he seen gems of dew rolling down her silver paint, and alarm prickled in his chassis.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he said immediately, his side now brushing hers as it did in the party when she was startled.

"I'm sorry," she squeaked, trying to keep her breaths regular. "You should have left when I turned away."

He was confused. What was going on?

"Why? Why should I leave?"

She turned away from him, afraid to show her face. She forced herself to quiet in the lengthening silence between them, but she couldn't stop her gasps.

"It's a thing of mine to cry after I'm…upset," she corrected, voice a hoarse whisper. "It happens."

He blinked. How odd it was for a car to be that way! "How did it happen?" he asked. "I mean, I just wanted to know, you don't have to if—"

"I used to not have anyone to turn to when I wanted to rant," she said quietly, cutting him off. "And so, all I had were my pillows and my room, and the dead air around me. When I'm mad, this happens. When frustration arises, this happens." She sighed. "I'm sorry again you had to see me this way. I didn't mean to—"

"Everyone has limitations," he told her softly, smilingly, as he gazed into her sad brown eyes. "You don't have to act perfect around me if you don't want to."

She stared at him or a while longer, emotions clear and surging in her eyes. "But what if I mess up?" She turned away. "I really hate messing up in front of others."

"How can you not practice what you preach?" he blurted, startled. "Nobody's perfect, remember?"

"I know that, but I hate feeling weak and small."

"Why? A lot of people—"

"A lot of people haven't gone through what I have," she shot back, facing him. Her gaze was clear and unwavering as she stared at him squarely. There was a moment of silence, and she twitched her lips in thought. "And I'd rather we—I—discuss this in a better place and time."

"Alright," he conceded. "Tonight, six-thirty."

Amusement and surprise flickered in her gaze. "Where?"

"Should I go to the Bernoulli's, or…?"

A corner of her lips twitched in amusement. "Maybe I should meet you at the hotel instead," she told him.

"Fino," he replied, and she reversed out of the space, swerving around and burning rubber as she headed outside. Surprise made his lip pop open at her change of mood. This was one fickle girl.

But as he, too, headed out, he he found Margo out of the group, talking to someone else. A kind of frustration clawed at his belly as he realized she was talking to Max Schnell.

He jerked his front quite angrily in the pair's direction as he sided by Rip and Raoul. "What's he doing with her?"

"I dunno." Rip was startled by the intensity of his friend's frustration.

But he didn't have to strain to hear what they were saying.

"…I'd like to talk to you about the new tech."

Jealousy and alarm surged through Miguel. These two had something to talk about, and he hadn't really a topic in mind that they both had in common. And what would she say? Would she agree to go or not? Did Max even ask for a date, he wondered. Maybe, considering what he was asking, and considering that she'd only mentioned the _basics _of the new tech.

"…later." He failed to catch the first part of her reply, and this left him frustrated. "And besides, the technology isn't even new!"

Wait, that sounded right. His spirits picked up, and he continued to listen.

"Then how?" Max asked.

Margo snorted. "I did my research and solutions. You're older and more experienced. Can't you figure it out on your own?"

"But I want to know now!" At the rising of his voice, the group turned.

"This is why I don't like you, Max," Margo spat openly with narrowed eyes. "You tend to take help for granted sometimes, and thane things for your own.

"_What?_ How can Max take things from her?" Rip hissed quietly.

"I saw your book, Schnell," she continued. "Don't think I didn't see most of my advice." With that, she stalked back t othe group.

"Margo?" Marlene asked gently as the A7 sided by the golden grand tourer. "Is anything wrong?"

She gave one last glare at the German through her rearview mirror before glancing back and speaking. "Just a misunderstanding."

"That was no misunderstanding," Carla put in, her soprano voice ringing with her Portuguese accent. "Not from what we've heard."

"Yeah," Rip encouraged. "What happened?"

There was a pause as she decided what to say. "I'm sure he wouldn't want to make things public," she murmured.

"You're too soft for your own good," Raoul replied, but there was no hardness in his tone.

Yet, the A7 didn't take that too nicely. "I'm not soft," she said flatly. "I just take what I've learned from life and apply it."

"Don't be so hard on Raoul," Rip defended as the Frenchman lowered his front.

"Don't assume then," she replied, obviously trying to keep calm. It was tense for a moment before she murmured, "I'm sorry, Raoul. I didn't mean to be so hard."

The small blue car nodded. "It's okay."

The subdued A7 turned away before anyone else could ask questions. Miguel left her to her own devices for the while, remembering he should have left her alone.

After a little more conversation the racers scattered, and the family returned home. Miguel was exhausted by the day's events, and returned to his room instead, and settled down to sleep.

The only problem with sleep is that people tend do forget things.


	10. Chapter 10

_Alright you guys, I originally wanted something else, but since imperfection can't be ignored, then here it is!_

**_Pizzachic_**_, you have **Pancake **to thank for that. :) She's the one who reminded me that Margo can't be all that perfect. xD_

_Well **Pancake**, I liked how they shared their interest in engineering tho, but I think that's it. The mustache really turned me off. :/ xD_

_Hehe, you have a really, really, really vivd imagination, **Mere**stuffins. xD_

_Anyone for a lol moment after all that tension? xDD Can Maroon 5 give you a song that can't be related to TCUASPO2? O.o And dragging I don't really like doing. :/ *late*_

* * *

**_Chapter Ten_**

His lids flickered open before he opened his eyes to a blurred world. The room was dim except for a lamp beside him that filled the room with warm white light. Outside, he saw that the sky had darkened to a near-pitch black, and glistening stars littered the space above the world's head.

He scrambled out of his bed to glance at his clock. It was around eight in the evening already, and he'd completely forgotten to set his alarm. Now, he was at least an hour and a half late for his date!

Quickly, he freshened up, but not before his tire got tangled in the covers, or before he bumped groggily into the door frame of the bathroom. Painfully and frustratedly he got out of the shower roughly ten minutes later, and switched off the lights, remembering to lock the door. He raced out of the hotel, running towards the home as he knew she would still be there. He knocked on the door, where Giacomo answered in once more.

"_Signore_ Camino," he said, startled.

"Giacomo, is Margo here?" Miguel asked breathlessly.

"Oh." The butler's eyes were apologetic. "She left just-a before the _famiglia _left-a," he replied with a thick Italian accent. "That was-a a few hours ago, I think-a."

Miguel's heart plummeted. She could be anywhere by now!

"Miguel?" a soft voice made him jump around, and the two male cars stared at the girl before them. It was Margo.

"Margo," he breathed in relief. She hadn't been kidnapped, or worse.

"What are you doing here?" she asked quietly. "I thought you'd gone and had…dinner." She seemed to have stopped herself.

"I was looking for you," he told her, moving closer. "I'm so sorry I was late."

She blinked, and was that sadness in her gaze? "No need," she replied. "I—"

"Before you think anything, I was asleep," he told her quickly, unable to think that she would believe he went off with someone else. "I swear."

This seemed to take her aback, and amusement flashed in her gaze now. "You shouldn't've come then," she told him. "You should have caught up on your rest."

"No," he replied. "I made a promise to you."

She chuckled now, her DRL's flickering slightly in the dim. "I…I don't know what to say."

"At least agree to have dinner with me," he insisted.

"You really want to talk to me, don't you?" she said, quite flustered. "Alright."

Feeling in his chest flared, and his lips widened in a smile as she turned to Giacomo.

"_Wait until Marlene and Francesco get home,_" she told the butler. "_Tell them I'll be back, and not to worry."_ The butler nodded, and closed the door, leaving the two in the dark.

"You…?"

"Yes, I can speak Italian, Spanish, French and German," she told him quickly. "I liked learning them because it was engaging to do so." She didn't look his way. "I only learned German because I used to ask things at Audi's manufacturing plant. French because some of my friends couldn't speak English as well. Italian has an answer in itself," she chuckled, "and Spanish, well, let's say it's been a childhood dream."

"Really?"

"Well, as far as I can remember," she replied. "I mean, it's not something I should brag about, really." She chuckled quite nervously, looking away.

"No, I mean, it's great that you've learned how to speak in many languages," he pointed out. "I don't think I'd have done that."

"Not as great as you," she replied quietly. "You've won, what, many trophies, poles, wins?" She sighed. "I've no achievements to flaunt."

"Sure you do," he encouraged. "Any degrees?"

"Er…I've a masters' on mechanical engineering," she stammered, "and a baccalaureate in electrical engineering." She paused. "Just that."

"That's big!" he exclaimed. "I don't…I don't have a college degree," he confessed, voice low.

She stopped, staring at him, her mouth gaped slightly. He turned to her, embarrassed. "You…you just finished high school?"

He nodded, not meeting her gaze. "I left home, and…and I've not seen my family since."

"Oh, Miguel," she murmured, and he glanced up, into her saddened eyes.

"I know, I know, it's a sad story, and all that crap, but…" He sighed, looking away and turning his taillights to her. "I don't want to hear it."

He jumped at a sense of feeling, and he tingled thickly as he found her nuzzling him. His headlights flickered on again, as bright as they would go. His insides tickled and his body tingled at the continuous touch.

"Then you won't," she murmured. "You won't."

Suddenly, his belly snarled, a rough rumbling, and she laughed in glee, staring at him with amusement. "Why don't we continue over dinner?"

Soon enough, they were settled in a secluded booth at a local restaurant, and were waiting for the orders to arrive.

"I was surprised, to tell you the truth," she told him apologetically. "And disappointed. But then again, some of my family haven't finished even…middle school, is that what it's called?" There was a pause. "I never really…adhered…to that kind of education. I mean, I'm sorry, but…that's what I've been raised with."

He felt dismayed she had such high standards. But a sort-of loyalty made him want to listen to more.

"For a few reasons, I've felt ashamed about my family," she continued. "I always thought my family was good, not necessarily perfect, but..all the same." Her eyes lowered, and he suddenly felt the sadness she must be feeling.

"Oh."

"I guess I was innocent then, influenced by movies that showed families that were complete, parents that were well-educated, children that were happy." There was a small pause. "It wasn't until I turned ten that I saw everything for myself, that I heard everything for myself. The world I thought was perfect suddenly…shattered.

"Suddenly, there were broken families, children without knowing their true parents, parents who never married, as in, with a contract. Suddenly, I knew what the consequences were. Suddenly….my family wasn't perfect." Her voice caught at the end, and she swallowed audibly.

"You don't have to tell me everything," he told her quietly. "I'm not looking for everything."

She stared at him, brown eyes sad, before she spoke again. "You know," she started voice weak, "you're the first one I've ever told. About this, I mean. I mean, about what I-what I feel about this…issue."

He stared at her. "Didn't you have any friends?"

"I had, but…none of them I could really trust to talk about this."

He felt touched he was the first one she turned to, as far as she told him.

"I'm sorry," he heard her murmur.

"Wait, what?" He seemed startled. "What are you sorry for?"

"For-for making you uncomfortable." She blinked at him. "I mean, aren't you?"

"No, not at all," he replied coolly, but even this didn't make her any calmer.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She seemed to falter in many ways, and she only turned away.

"Margo—"

"I'm sorry!" she whispered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't," he said as he sided by her. "Don't be upset; you didn't do any harm."

But she only closed her eyes, breathing as calmly as she could. He continuously rubbed against her side until he felt her calm down.

"I truly am sorry," she said quietly. "I really don't like making other people upset because of me."

"Who does?" he murmured smilingly. "Look, you did nothing to upset me," he told her.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Positive."

She paused, and nodded. "Thank you for understanding."

"Quite willing to," he replied softly, but sort of thought she was high-maintenance. This made him disfavor her all of a sudden.

In their conversation, he'd learned she'd been changed in her past: from harsh words to a closed family life, to having the burden of her life since she was eighteen. She had very few friends. She was one of the very few to be truly accepted into her batch. Many have turned against her. She, too, had left her own family, or else, her family left her.

Her mother had chosen to stay back in her homeland, whereas Margo, innocent then, had chosen to go with her father, a diplomat, to go abroad. Later she'd learned her parents were to be divorced, and hated her father, right until he was involved in a massive crash. She'd never spoken to him again, just as her cousin had been. Her mother was lost, and was never heard of again.

She never continued about her family, because dinner had been over, and they were driving home.

He felt she was just a little…overreacting. She'd been reacting like a squeaky little girl the time they'd talked. She didn't seem like the mature woman he'd met, the one he'd imagined her to be: strong and able to handle almost everything. But no, she faltered at the thought of her family.

Just then, as they were driving down a dark lane, which was, unfortunately, the road back to her home, someone met them, and there was certainly no promise of a good meeting.

"Hey," someone growled low, and a black Camaro stepped into the light.

Suddenly, the A7 stepped forward, turning so her silver front formed a wall between the men. "Who are you, and what do you want?" she asked, voice low.

"Ooh, very voluntary," the Camaro hissed, stepping forth as well.

"Just drive away, and no one gets hurt," she snarled, eyes narrow.

"No one gets hurt, eh?"

"Margo, just—"

"Shut up," she hissed at Miguel. "Let me handle this." Louder, she continued, "What are you here for?"

"Oh, just driving around, when I saw you," he whispered the last word with such passion even Miguel swayed. The Camaro's brown eyes stared at her fiercely.

"So?"

"So?" he repeated in disbelief. "I'm here," he stated, and stopped to whisper in her ear, "for you."

"Mm," she murmured, "but my interest isn't in you."

But he didn't have the chance to continue, because she roughly nudged him away with such power it startled even Miguel, the Chevrolet's front rising a few feet in the air and backing away and the same length.

"So get out of our way, and you'll be fine," she snarled, and the Camaro raced away in fear.

"How did you do that?" Miguel whispered in awe.

"An A7 is relatively stronger than the Camaro," she told him. "I…I figured, so…yeah." She chuckled shyly. He only stared at her in awe as she continued. "But then again, you're stronger than I am."

He blinked. "I…I am?"

"You've had the proper training, then you've a racing engine, and then again, you're a grand tourer," she replied. "It makes sense."

"But you didn't have to—"

"The only thing about me is that I'm protective of guests, of family, of friends." Her eyes were strong but gentle. "I can't let you get hurt." She pressed closer to him. "I don't want you to get hurt."

He stared at her for a few moments, surprise in his eyes, then he softened. "Thanks."

"No problem," she replied quietly. "We better get home." With that, she turned and led the way back.

"Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself?" she asked him as they stopped at the Bernoulli home's doorway.

"I think I can manage," he said, quite amused. "I, after all, am a grand tourer."

She chuckled shyly, DRL's flickering slightly. "Well, goodnight," she told him.

"Goodnight," he replied. There was a moment of silence and awkwardness before she turned to kiss his fender quickly. She turned away to enter the home, but not before she cast him a last glance with a smile.

This stunned him to silence, and he chuckled, not wanting to yowl out his ecstasy. She may have shown herself to be quite high-maintenance, but there was another side of her he failed to see: a better, lighter side, one without too much trouble. And he liked that, he realized, as he returned to the hotel. And for the first time, he couldn't sleep because of his excitement and his happiness at the night's events.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Pancake**, upon your review, I just decided that it would just be a sort-of deciding factor, I suppose. I mean, Pearle did have her own deciding factors, and now, so does Margo. Will Rodrigo go for a traitor-ess, or a girl that needs confidence in sharing her inner self? And yes, we're both badass. 78D  
_

_Hehe, you'll be more surprised what other parts of the anatomy I related, **Mere**. :3  
_

_I noticed **pizzachic** hasn't reviewed yet. O.o_

_Is 4000 words enough for the long dowtime? xD  
_

* * *

_**Chapter Eleven**_

The day had been rather boring without anything to do, but he didn't want to look like he was trying to invade their space or anything, and so he waited until late that afternoon to speak to her, still knocking on the front door. Luckily for him, she answered the door.

"Miguel," she called, startled. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, er," he stammered, searching for words. "Isn't Giacomo here?"

"Oh. Poor car's sleeping," she told him, chuckling. "He works too hard for his age." He chuckled with her, until she prodded, "So, what are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask if you'd like to go out again tonight," he said slowly, hoping it wasn't the wrong thing to say. He winced slightly at how awkward he must have sounded. "I mean…you know what I mean."

She chuckled, eyes gentle with amusement. "I've got nothing to do tonight," she answered. "Did you want to go now, or should I wait for a later time?"

"Er…" he glanced at the darkening sky. "Now would be good. You know, to make up for last night," he added quickly.

"Alright. Let me just tell Marlene I'm going out," she murmured, half to herself. "Watch the door, will you?" she asked, and turned away without waiting for an answer.

Yet, fear prickled in his chassis as he spotted Francesco heading for the front door, coming up from behind.

"Miguel," Francesco called, as appalled as Margo.

He turned to face Francesco. "_Buenos tardes_, Francesco," Miguel greeted.

"_Buona sera_" was the reply, voice curious, and…suspicious? "What are you doing here?"

"I—"

"Francesco," Margo greeted suddenly, as startled as she was earlier. "What are you doing here?"

"Is this some sort of comic?" Miguel asked, humor thick in his tone. "I've heard that line at least four times today."

Margo gave a few laughs as she sided by Miguel, but Francesco didn't take it too lightly.

"And where are you going?" Francesco half-growled.

"Oh, relax, Francesco; I'm just going out for a drive," she replied nonchalantly.

"And…what of Miguel?"

"He needs an escort to the docks," she replied. "I heard he and Cartalina were going to meet there, you know, to see the sun set."

Miguel could hear her getting impatient and more scared, but at a minimal level. Francesco was getting more and more suspicious, Miguel realized, as the seconds passed.

"Can't Miguel find his way on his own?"

She rolled her eyes. "This is Italy, Francesco. Miguel doesn't have a map on hand," she replied, trying to keep her voice calm.

Francesco nodded, but still looked unconvinced. Margo rolled her eyes and pushed past Francesco. "Miguel, let's go; you don't want Petro to think you can't keep a schedule, do you?"

"_Perdón_," Miguel murmured as he followed her, but he couldn't keep his eyes off Francesco's narrowed, threatening gaze, and fear crept on Miguel's chassis, making him speed off to side by Margo, trembling slightly.

"What happened to you?" she asked him as they drove out of Francesco's view.

"I have the feeling Francesco doesn't like me," he told her tremblingly.

"Nonsense; he doesn't like anybody unnecessarily," she told him, but could hear the uncertainty in her voice. He didn't challenge her though.

"So, where do you have in mind?" she asked him.

"Ahh…" He trailed off. He hadn't really planned this on his way here, just how to ask her out again.

She sighed in mock disapproval. "Come with me," she told him. "I've been wanting to show you something."

He followed her down the humble roads of Porto Corsa. Lots of the townspeople greeted her, not only by time but also by name; she must be quite popular with the town. Then again, she is Francesco's cousin-in-law, he thought, and shrugged it off. They never went faster than at least thirty miles, and she filled the silence with pretty much useless talk about current issues and the like.

She led him down to the coastline, and the sun was already starting to set, hovering over the ocean surface as she led him towards the end of the docks, a secluded place he would never have thought of going.

"This is one of the places I like going to when I want to enjoy the scenery," she told him quietly. "I suppose you can see why."

The scene in front of him plainly took his breath away. "It's beautiful," he said, no more than a breath.

A corner of her lips twitched, but she said nothing. No amusement came from her now; just calm.

"This dock we're on is for daytime use only," she explained, "from four in the morn to four in the afternoon."

"Really?"

She nodded, her DRL's flicking off. "Most of the other boats, ships and yachts don't come here for the only reason this is a shipping dock that must be open." She paused, her lips twitching decisively, before continuing in a noticeably softer voice. "One reason why it's a perfect night spot."

His initial response was amusement, and he laughed slightly, before he put two and two together. He stared at her in surprise, and he saw mischief and amusement in her brown gaze.

"You…?"

"It was an errant thought," she murmured, her DRL's flickering on again as she smiled at the wooden paneling, and she glanced up at him for a split-second, embarrassment in them now.

He opened his lips to speak, but no words have formed yet. It was a while before he spoke, minding his tone and his words, trying to keep them as inoffensive as possible. "Are you…are you even innocent?"

She chuckled once. "Nobody can be truly innocent from the world," she murmured, her gaze meeting his now as she spoke, smiling and gentle. "But some people chose to dwell on things and emotions like that, and, well, turn less innocent than average." She glanced away, and there was sadness in her tone. "I am one of them."

This encouraged his surprise even more. Such a sweet exec turned into a she-devil? This wasn't he had in mind!

As she met his astonished gaze, she started to speak again. "Let me explain," she started. "You see, I've always been, say, restrained…. My parents never let any friends in without their permission; I was never let out of the neighborhood without someone to watch me; I was never let a boyfriend; I always needed to give details when I went out with my friends, and even then I had to have some sort of chaperone with me; all computers in the home were under lock and key; I was never able to drink alcohol even when my friends could, and my parents freaked out when I took just one sip of champagne. I was never allowed a cellphone until I was working; all things I knew to be fun were stripped as I received unsatisfactory marks in my tests." Her voice was low and sad, but not as squeaky and stammering as yesterday. Her gaze didn't meet his as she enumerated. "I was…under a tight leash, you could say. And the final release I knew…was within myself."

He breathed quietly. His own parents were quite the same, but not as harsh as hers.

She didn't cry though, and that was good sign. "But it's over now, and I can live my own life…right up until I had to live with Francesco."

"What happened?" he asked softly in his interest.

"Well, when Dad left, I was just, well, eighteen, nineteen and in college. In Dad's last will and testament, the house, the furniture, anything else that wasn't mine, was supposed to be sold for money, and his bank account be opened for my taking. Then, I had to go straight here, to Italy, to stay with my closest cousin, Marlene, and be taken care of."

He jerked back slightly. "Wait, wait; how old are you anyway?"

She stared at him, smiling sadly. "Would you believe I'm only twenty-three?"

He stared at her, mouth agape in a silent gasp. She was only _twenty-three_?

She turned away, sighing. "I knew you wouldn't believe me." When a moment of silence ensued, she asked, "What about you?"

"I'm-I'm twenty-seven," he replied. "I…I hadn't known you were so young."

She breathed deeply, then sighed, staring at the setting sun. "Stress can do that, you know, make you look older than you are in many ways—experience, appearance, and all that—as well as the world."

He blinked. "How?"

"Well, for one thing, stress can make you feel older, make you manage things for the older people, and all that." She paused. "The world, on the other hand, is, as I said, not as perfect as the parents want the kids to think. Everyone has to realize the reality once they come of age, and…I think that's what happened to me." She glanced at him. "Everyone has to mature one way or the other, Miguel. For me, this was one of them." She looked away, settling on her chassis as she relaxed, eyes thoughtful but she didn't speak.

His head whirled in the pieces of new knowledge about her. He hadn't known she had such a life, somehow harder than he ever had. As far as he knew, his parents were still alive, as well as the rest of his family. He had his siblings with him, whereas she was an only child in the family. He was as innocent to the world as he was contented in his own home, but had a huge flash of shock when the reality hit as he ran away from his family. But this girl, she's had to see things as she was young. He didn't know if it was fortunate or not; she had time to prepare herself for the worst, but then again she had to live with the knowledge of what the world was at a young age.

Yet, he wanted her to continue her story. "So, what happened when you moved in? Into Francesco's home, I mean."

"Well, after a few months when I showed what I can do—he wasn't very happy about me coming into his home, see, because he and Marlene just settled in, and she was, well, pregnant"—she winced slightly, awkwardly—"with Franco, I guess he thought I was some sort of liability, you know, someone else to take care of: to provide education, food and shelter for, and all that crap," they both chuckled slightly. "So, when a few months after I proved myself an asset instead—because I realized how much remorse he felt for me at the start—you know, working and taking after myself, as well as for the rest of the family while Francesco didn't have races to go to, I guess he was happier with it, then soon enough, I guess we just…bonded, I guess." She shrugged. "Then, he started becoming overprotective once reports of"—she swallowed—"rape…were heard just a few kilometers out of town, as well as in other cities other than in Genoa.

"Soon, he started becoming like my own parents: tight security, setting a curfew, no going out without Giacomo…." Her voice trailed away. "I once thought I could be as free as I could be, but no, I can't seem to be the bird that's got to leave the nest."

She seemed so sad as he looked at her, and, instinctively, he pressed against her. She leaned against him, her eyes sliding shut, and he sighed. She's had such a hard childhood.

"So, setting all the sadness aside," he started, "are you happy with your life, with yourself?"

Her eyes opened slightly. "Well, yeah, once you don't dwell on the past," she replied. "I mean, everybody has a past, but you never dwell on what has happened before." He realized she straightened with his unsaid encouragement, and her voice was stronger. "You look to what you can do with your future with what you have now, and you can focus on the present. I mean, it's like jealousy in a relationship: you dwell on it, and it only leads to more trouble." She stared at him with bright brown eyes. "You have to talk it over, to compromise. In this case, you can't forget about your past, but you don't have to focus on it too much. It's the past, and it can't help you now. But the mistakes you have done: talking back on your parents, going back on your words, all those mistakes have probably been embedded in your mind, and surely you can't make the same mistake all over again, knowing the consequences."

He felt uplifted, too, at the strength and content of her words. She was like the teacher he never had, one that never taught him these things in his life. He realized he had so much to learn from her, and so much to learn from life.

He blinked, smiling slightly at her. "Thank you for telling me this," he said softly.

"And thank you," she replied as quietly, with fervency in her tone, "for listening."

He was confused, and he frowned slightly in it. She chuckled slightly as she continued. "It's hard to find someone who truly listens these days. A friend can sometimes be awkward to talk to because they might not be willing to listen. They might not be able to appreciate whatever you have to tell them."

He nodded in understanding, remembering how uncomfortable about the subjects he sometimes wanted to take up with Benedicto, the last to join the trio. Tercio may have well been his closest friend, but he also wanted to have been close to Benedicto.

"Come," she urged. "There are two other main spots I like going to." She paused. "If-if you're willing to join me, that is."

"Of course," he replied gently, smilingly. Somehow, he knew he'd follow her wherever she'd go.

She smiled back before reversing, turning out of the dock. He followed her out of the beach, in and out of town and into the countryside. Privately he wondered where they were going as they headed quite uphill, and she stopped at a sort-of cliff, whose edge was bordered for safety, that overlooked Francesco Bernoulli's seaside hometown. Yet, instead of the town or just the seaside, the cliff gave a panoramic view of both, and the two could view the sunset while perusing a part of the small town that was Porto Corsa.

"Wow," Miguel breathed.

"Told you so," she murmured as they cut power to their headlights. The last of the sun had slipped below the ocean's surface, and twilight was giving way to early eve.

"What made you discover these places?" he blurted quietly.

"Oh, when I had problems at work," she replied, "or a big bowl of PMS, or when I had mental block, or when I wanted to talk to Dad." She shrugged. "I've many reasons."

"I…I can't believe I missed this."

"A lot of people do, you know, miss out on things like this," she told him. "Always rushing things, always wanting things earlier than they should be. And it all results in a stressed-out, messy mind." She sighed. "Sometimes, I wish my staff could see this."

Silence ensued again as he took in the beautiful view. They stayed there as long as the moon rose silently in the sky, fat and white. Suddenly, her belly rumbled.

"Oh-!" she squeaked in response as he chuckled. "I…guess I'm hungry," she said apologetically.

"Me too," he replied. "Why don't we get something to eat first?"

"Good idea," she replied, and led the way down.

Dinner wasn't quiet, not at all, even if the place had been. In fact, it had been engaging as she began telling old stories and jokes he never knew she'd had.

"Unfortunately, most jokes in the family are told in the manner that we play around with the language," she told him. "It's the _Pinoy_ sense of humor, you see, and you can only appreciate it only if you can understand the language." Her look was very apologetic, but nonetheless, all her stories had been hilarious all the same.

"So, there's this car who has a '4x4' mark on his rear, you know, the alt sign of all-wheel-drive," she started. "He sleeps soundly at a parking lot, sunning I suppose. And then, there's this penniless but, say, crazy car who's giggling all by himself.

"The car sees the '4x4' sign, and grabs a nearby pen, having said to himself, 'Four…times four…equals sixteen!' and scribbles the answer just after the sign." Miguel could only snicker as he tried holding back his laughter, his gaze never leaving hers. To his amazement, she could tell jokes with a relatively straight yet smiling face, just as a comedian would.

"The AWD wakes up, and finds he has some ink on his rear. Furious, he asks for a new paint job, and hopes it wouldn't happen again. The next week, as he suns quietly again, the crazy car comes back, and finds the '4x4' sign again. With the same pen, he writes 'equals sixteen', and goes off again, giggling like the crazy man he was." She waved off with her tire, gesturing what had happened, breaking her eye contact with him for a moment.

"The AWD finds the ink on him again as he wakes up! 'Alright, fine'," she said gruffly, mimicking the car's voice. "'If that's what the old coot wants, then let it be!'

"Soon enough, the AWD stays in his favorite spot again, sunning as usual. The old coot comes back to find his answer still on the AWD's rear." Her eyes glinted with amusement. "To the AWD's amazement, the crazy car still got the pen, and wrote as he said smilingly, 'Correct!'"

Miguel burst in his laughter as she finished with the punch line, and she laughed with him. It took him a while before he settled down. She heaved a sigh of relief as he settled down.

"I don't believe I've ever heard that before," he said, almost exhaustedly.

She chuckled at him. "My father used to tell me jokes like that," she said.

"But…but I thought—"

She shook her front. "My dad and I were quite close as I came of age, always joking around when he's in a good mood."

He nodded in reply. It was the same way even after dinner, a happy round of conversation, until they left the restaurant. The moon had risen high in the cloudless sky, showering Porto Corsa with its pale light that could not be seen in the interference of the street lamps.

"Come on," she murmured, and when he glanced at her, she had gone, but not very far. She had turned around to face him as she reversed, inch by inch, eyes to his. She smiled, a corner of her lips twitching. He chuckled, and sped towards her. She reversed, swerving around as he sided by her, and they both faced the way they had come again.

"How-how do you do that?" he asked her in astonishment. "You seem to just…turn around in place."

She chuckled. "I learned," she told him simply. "And you can learn, too."

"I look forward to it," he replied enthusiastically.

She laughed, nuzzling him fiercely. He smiled down at her, chuckling, as they drove out towards the countryside once more.

"So, where are we heading?" he asked her.

She swerved again as she giggled playfully, and she drove in reverse as she stared at him with smiling brown eyes. "You'll see," she told him, and curiosity burned in his belly as she turned and raced forward.

He caught up to her soon enough, to a place where trees and brambles bordered something in a circle. She turned to face him as he moved to her side.

"We're here," she murmured softly, and pointed with her eyes to the clearing ahead. He stared around in amazement.

The clearing, having a small stream and a gently falling waterfall at the cliff face on the opposite end, was bathed in moonlight, turning all colors from green to silver, black and white. A grand oak stood in the near-center of the clearing, its thick branches spanning outward to form some sort of shade from either the sun or the moon. The clearing gave no sign of fauna; maybe that was because it was nighttime, he thought. The only flora that was there were the wildflowers that littered the clearing, growing in trios and pairs and in different colors like white, blue, and yellow. The clearing looked like a very private place to stay; the bushes and trees that bordered the clearing were thick, and there was no sign of anyone living within the rock face of the sheer cliff on the other side of the meadow, nor was there a sign that there would be a rock fall.

"Go ahead," she urged him, nosing him forward. He paused for a moment in uncertainty before he stepped into the moonlight.

His gaze swept around the place, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. From the gently flowing stream to its source, a quietly falling waterfall, to the great oak tree, to the rock face, to the border of shrubbery. And then, as he gazed upward, he found the fat, white moon silently gazing down at him and all that was below it. He later noticed how beautiful the moon was in this silent place, and was awed by it; it was, after all, the first time in a long time that he'd seen the beauty of things this way.

For her, on the other hand, she stared outward as he moved deeper into the clearing, but this time, neither the grass nor the tree nor the flowers were of her point of interest; instead, it was the car that stood in front of her, gazing around in his awe.

Her brown gaze took in every detail, tasted each color even if they were subdued, caressed each contour of his smooth, sleek golden body as she gazed at him. He looked so calm, and yet at the same time, so strong. She could, and at the same time she couldn't, imagine the strength underneath his fiery colors, underneath his metal body. It was uncomfortable to stare, yet it was nice to.

Soon enough, he realized he was as alone as the moon above, and he stared around for the car he was looking for. He found her, settled at the entrance, staring right at him. He felt uncomfortable: prickling with embarrassment, but at the same time anxious. But for what reason was his anxiety, he wondered blindly.

"Margo," he murmured, but the call was loud enough in the silence.

The question may have been unsaid, but she knew what he was too embarrassed to ask. Her lips twitched before she spoke. "I wanted to see how you would react," she replied as gently. "Most people don't seem to share my interests."

"But I do," he blurted out mindlessly, almost immediately. "I do."

Her lips twitched once more, but said nothing. Her gaze was unreadable in the shadows of the trees that hovered over her head.

"Come with me," he pressed.

"Why?"

"Because," he started, but suddenly thought better of what he was going to say. Then again, it was just the two of them, but why was it so hard to admit he liked her? Why was it so hard to admit he was falling for her, aloud, and even more so to himself?

It was even worse to not tell her at all.

"Because I want to share this with you," he replied, voice soft. He was lucky his headlights didn't flick on.

Her eyes closed for a moment, and he figured it was in thought before she revealed her brown irises once more. She stared at him with recognizable uncertainty, and she, too, stepped out into the moonlight.

That night of the party, on the balcony, seemed like a dream, a ghost. The sun's golden glare was too bright; the scarlet sunset turned her orange; the harsh white light of fluorescent bulbs was too strong. Here, in the moon's pale yet gentle radiance, was where she belonged.

He blinked several times, unsure if she was real or if he was dreaming himself, because it was like she stepped out of a dream and into his world.

"What's wrong?" she half-squeaked.

This shook him awake. "What's wrong," he started slowly, "is that you are so absolutely entrancing, so absolutely…beautiful." _There are no other words for it; these will have to do._

She blushed thickly, daytime running lights flicking on as strong as they would go as she smiled shyly. "I am?"

_Oh, god_s, he thought in awe. _She looks so cute when she blushes._ "Of course you are."

She glanced away slightly. "No one's ever recognized me that way before," she told him. "Outside my family, I mean," she added quickly.

"Then to me," he started, moving closer to whisper, "you will always be beautiful."

She stared at him, windshield glistening in the half-light, and he returned it with his rare, truly gentle green gaze.

"Oh, Miguel—"

"There's no need to call me that anymore," he interrupted, sure of his words.

This startled her. "Why not?"

"My real name is Miguel Rodrigo Camino," he confessed. "Since I was a boy, close friends and family have always called me by my second name." He smiled hopefully at her. "Will you do the same?"

There was a moment's respite from her, until she nodded, smiling. "Of course," she told him, "Rodrigo."

His second name sounded even better in her voice, in her accent, and his heart filled with such ecstasy and love it hurt. He could only stare at her as she moved to his side, rounding him a full two hundred and seventy degrees. She pressed close against his side, and he leaned slightly against her. He breathed in her sweet, warm scent with lidded eyes, feeling everything then nothing at the same time.

"Rodrigo?" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

It was a song he wanted to hear from her every day, a phrase he so wanted to believe and the take heart of. Even if it was a statement he took so lightly before, even if it was a phrase that gave him no meaning before, now was the only moment he knew its importance, its strength.

"I love you, too."


	12. Chapter 12

_I gave this a title because it fit so badly. :)_

_I'm glad it touched you, __**pizzachic**__! :D_

* * *

_**Chapter Twelve: Revelations**_

Francesco yawned, wondering what he should do that morning as he wandered into the kitchen. There he found a note stuck on the refrigerator, a smiley magnet pinning it to the silver door. He winced as he tried making out what it said through his morning blur.

"You aren't going blind like me, aren't you?" a gentle voice called as the purr of an engine sounded in his ears.

"Not really." He didn't need to check if it was Marlene or not. "I just woke up, after all."

She sided by him, staring at the note before them. Her eyes widened in alarm, then she relaxed, chuckling. Francesco started to laugh, too.

"I still remember the last time I left a note for an all-day excursion," she murmured, glancing at him.

"_Anche mio_," he chuckled. "But…what do we do…about her? She might get hurt!"

She nuzzled his wing as alarm dominated his tone. "She'll be fine, Francesco," she murmured comfortingly. She cut him off as she continued. "She's twenty-three, sweetheart. She can handle herself."

Francesco let out the breath he was holding. "Am I too strict with her?" he asked after a small while.

"Maybe," the R8 replied. "But your concern is right." She turned to kiss his wing. "Why don't you start breakfast while I check on Franco?" With that, she turned to leave.

Francesco only read and reread the note, still worried for his adopted daughter.

_"Don't worry._

—_MRS 125"_

* * *

"You know?"

"What?"

"I haven't heard a single word about your family or your past." She glanced at him. "Why not?"

That mid-morning, right after breakfast, he'd invited her to the clearing once more, and soon, unable to refuse, she led him up the countryside for the second time. Golden daylight lit up the small meadow, and even the shadow of the oak's wide branches brightened slightly instead of the near-pitch black shade last night, warming the cool autumn air of Italy. The two had settled side-by-side under the shade of the oak, talking.

His lazy green gaze was now alarmed, and either his lips pressed together or they twitched in thought.

"Margo?"

"Yes?"

He stared at her. Whatever you've believed, whatever you've thought…I want you to forget all that." Her eyes widened with surprise, but he continued.. "i want you to have an open mind when I tell you about my past."

It was a few moments before she nodded, slowly but surely. He took a deep breath before speaking.

"My family was quite well-off," he started. "With us, you can have anything at nearly a link of an eye." He noted how her eyes glimmered in awe for a moment. "My father worked as a successful but quiet lawyer, and my mother soon retired as a housewife.

"I had three younger sisters, one of which was my twin, and an older brother. My brother's name was Bartolomé Arturo; my sisters', according to age, were Eugénia Milagros, Mercedes Adelaida, and Mireia Adelina. Of them, I loved my brother and our youngest very much, while I quite resented my twin and our second youngest, although the feeling for Mercedes was slightly lesser.

"Before I move on to my sisters, I'd like to say that Tolomé was a great car. Many liked him despite the resentment in my family, and he always taught me lessons that my parents didn't. He was my only ally in the family, and he loved me as a brother should." His eyes and tone were wistful. "We did a lot of things together: excursions, games, you name it."

"He sounds nice," she said. "What did he look like?"

Amusement filled his gaze as he stared at her. "Well, he was a lot like me, I guess," he replied. "We were a family of grand touring cars. You could say he looks a lot tougher than I am, but he's got brown eyes instead of green."

"So, was that a reason why you fist liked me?" she asked playfully.

He chuckled, a rumble in his throat. "At first, yes," he admitted without shame.

"At first?" she repeated.

"Never mind," he grumbled good-naturedly, and she nudged him slightly. Things were happy for a moment before his gaze and tone turned to a sour note.

"The reason why I disliked my twin sister is because she was selfish as well as resentful of me, always getting me into trouble with contempt in her eyes. Somehow, Eugénia recruited Mercedes as her ally. I'll never know why Eugénia and Mercedes have gone against me.

"My mother was Sofía; my father was Estéban. My father was rarely involved in our upbringing; my mother took charge of that.

"If I remember, you defined your father as sometimes harsh in reprimanding, correct?" When she nodded, he swept on, front bowed. "But then, I don't remember a time when she showed affection towards me or my brother."

"But how did you get all your stuff?" she blurted out. "I mean, it seems—"

"Ridiculous?" he continued with amusement. She was quite a quick thinker, and for some reason he liked that. She nodded. "Well, somehow I always had money in my pockets, and my mother never minded, I guess."

"…then shouldn't that be a show of affection or care?"

He felt flustered. He didn't see that coming. "Yes, well, Sofía insofar never kissed me or said 'I love you' all my life. At least, not as far as I know."

At last Margo nodded in acceptance of his answer, and he nudged her gently to show he wasn't the least offended. "Sofía always forced us to be gentlecars: charming, behaved, well-mannered." He trembled slightly, a tremor that even she felt. She nuzzled him gently, but his amusement earlier had lifted a small part of the sorrow he felt. "She always blamed me or Tolomé for things that even we did not do. I know she favored Eugénia, Mercedes and Adelina more than me or Tolomé, but it was no excuse!" Anger and resentment had driven steadfast Rodrigo to tears as memories surged in his thoughts and vision. "It was a stupid excuse to be more frustrated at us than them!" he cried out. "It was _her_ fault!"

She shushed him gently as he broke down, his sobs echoing thinly off the rock face. "You don't have to tell me everything at once," she told him.

He recovered at this, though slowly, and started to speak once more. "My mother favored my sisters only because they were girls. Much more was that they were refined girls, girls my mother wanted, girls she knew she could be proud of." He sighed. "I never had my mother's approval, even if I had my father's."

"Did your mother ever tell you the reason why she resented you and your brother?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "But whatever she showed us was enough explanation," he replied.

"At first I never understood why she had hated me so; it was only when I saw her showering Eugénia and Milagros with gifts that I realized she preferred her daughters."

"And your sisters took that as an advantage?"

He nodded. "My two sisters are like the devil!" he whispered, unable to yowl his anguish and hatred.

"Hush!" she hissed. "Don't say that; everyone has a heart."

He glared at her with reddened eyes, ready for a rebuke, but sighed, relaxing as he faced forward again. "You're right. Adelina was the best of the three only because I stepped in.

"You see, when my mother gave birth to her, I was around, say, ten years old. I had enough experience then, and I took that as an opportunity to raise a Camino sister the _right way_." She saw his gaze harden into the determination that came with revenge.

"I raised our youngest sibling myself, with a little help from Tolomé. Most accessories of hers I took away when she was old enough to think, most of them being jewelry and such, and mind you, my mother bought enough to turn a good girl spoiled! I had absolutely no use for them, but I didn't want to throw away such precious items, so I sold them instead."

She gasped. "You had no right!"

"I was her brother!" he hissed at her. "I had as much right to!"

"But those were gifts from your own mother! How could you do that!" Her eyes were wide with horror.

"How would you know!" he growled at her, and she flinched at the volume. He turned to face her with his green glare. "You don't have any siblings!"

She shook her front roughly, her ears stinging from his words. She could say no words because what he said was true, but he had no right to say that! In a language foreign to him, one he didn't recognize as European, she spat words at him in her anger, her eyes filled with tears, and she raced past him.

His green gaze turned from anger to horror. "Margo, wait!" he called out, but she didn't stop. He hared after her. "I didn't mean it!"

"You did!" She whirled around to face him. They almost met at a head-on collision, but it was only lucky that he was a race car and was able to screech to a halt faster than a normal car. "You had no right to blame me for something that I had no control of!" she screeched at him with a sob.

"I know, and I'm sorry!" he replied. "Please, Margo; I just-I just…." He sighed as words failed him. He did mean it, but he didn't want to admit it. It had been a surge of anger at her that had driven him to say that.

It was quiet between them for a moment, until he remembered their agreement earlier. "You promised," he started hoarsely, "that you would listen with an open mind."

Her gaze jerked up to meed his in her surprise, and he met her gaze with sadness. She blinked, then bowed her front, sighing. "I guess it was my fault," she said quite grudgingly.

He could understand her tone; he too had always been reluctant to admit he was the one in the wrong. "Come on," he encouraged, "let's go back."

Her lips twitched thoughtfully before she let him lead the way back towards the clearing, where they settled under the oak's widespread branches again.

"Did-did you want me to continue?" he asked uncertainly, unsure after the argument.

"If you wanted to," she replied. "I'll just be here to listen, anyway."

Her tone seemed flat, and he didn't want any remorse as he told her the rest of the story. "I don't want you to be mad at me as you listen," he replied.

"I'm not."

"You sound like you are."

"I swear I'm not."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course!"

"…I really don't want you to be mad. At me, or at anything."

"I'm not," she replied, bristling slightly. "If you tell me I'm mad one more time then I'll _be_ mad!" she spat at him with defiance. Soon, as he stared at her uncertainly, he saw the fire in her eyes leave, only to be replaced with amusement and softness. "Look at us," she murmured. "Fighting like…like…"

"Like lovers?" he replied as softly, amusement and love in his gaze, too.

She chuckled. "Yeah." Neither noticed the headlights flickering in the shade as she pressed closer against him.

"Alright, so where was I…Oh, yes.

"So I went and sold them off, and my mother barely noticed in her happiness for my little sister. Soon enough she noticed, and suspected I did, but I told her Eugénia sold them off for a bit of money. She wasn't eager to hear that, and punished me instead. But it was nothing compared to what Adelina could be in the long run.

"With her under my careful eye," he gestured dramatically, narrowing his eyes, she chuckled and nudged him playfully, "she grew up into the sweet girl I wanted my sisters to be, the kind of girl I saw in the hallways of my school.

"Now, in school, I had two friends, just like you. Their names were José Francisco Linares-Sevilla III, and Fernando Benedicto Medina-Iñigo; Tercio and Benedicto respectively." He chuckled once. "Forgive the long names."

She giggled herself. "That's alright."

With a smile, he continued. "Let's se…when I was still in high school, you could say I was at the top of the social food chain: you know—well, I don't mean to boast or anything, but I was considered one of the, say, hottest cars in the school."

She giggled again, almost shyly this time. "I can see that."

He laughed at this. "Yeah, well, there's this girl—"

"Of course there's a girl!" she exclaimed with amused sarcasm. They laughed for a moment.

"Okay, so there's this girl," he swept on. "She was the most beautiful car in our batch: a pearl white Maserati GranTurismo, with dazzling blue eyes." At this she felt stung by the wistfulness in his eyes and the adjective, but didn't show it. Surely there was more? "Everyone wanted her, even me. Soon enough though, she was mine."

She forced herself to stare back at him with the same curiosity as before, fighting the tension in her belly.

"With the money I had I gave her gifts, and soon I realized how nice it was to do that. For a time, I saw my mother in me, and my mother and I got along."

"For a time," she repeated.

"For a time," he agreed. "But then," his voice was sadder, "she did something I didn't expect."

"What was that?" she prodded, curiosity getting the best of her now.

"She…I found her…doing it…with someone else."

The suggestion in his voice was as unmistakable as the shock in her eyes. "What did you do to her?"

"I broke up with her," he said gruffly, shaking himself inwardly. "She didn't like it after I told her parents."

"Serves her right," Margo growled.

Miguel could only nod. He knew Margo didn't take things like this as lightly as he did before, but how will he tell her about his own misadventures.

It was quite for a moment as he tried forming was easy before, but now her beliefs would be challenged again, he realized.

"The reason why I ran from my family with my brother was that both of us were sick of my mother and our sisters," he started, and stared at her for anything. But there was nothing, just a flicker of reminiscence. "We supported ourselves for a while, mostly from Tolomé. Soon, I turned eighteen, and I was eligible to enter the Running of the Bulldozers.

"Long story short," he said, and she chuckled, "I became a matador at twenty-one, but my mother found out at my twentieth year. I ran out because I was tired of my mother always making the decisions for me." He still remembered that day as clearly as he remembered his moments with Margo the night before, and shivered. He hadn't meant for things to be that way, but it was done.

"My brother only left his career because of his wife," he continued. "I was one of the meager group of witnesses to the marriage, which wasn't much. He left his career because he couldn't bear to leave his family yet, and I was sad to see him leave me. But I was getting more and more successful, and I understood his need for it. I didn't want my nephew, Alfonso, to live without a father, as Tolomé and I nearly have." There was an unsaid question in her eyes, and he continued slightly, "Alfonso is his firstborn son, a sports car with the strength of a grand touring car."

She smiled. "A hybrid, just like Franco."

"Yes, just like Franco," he agreed, remembering the dark silver Formula model with the strength and courage of his father and the engine and stubbornness of his mother.

"So, I was offered a spot in the endurance races by a sponsor. Although it wasn't without its problems.

"I had a hard time adjusting from solitary life to being with my team. Petro even quite because of it! Then I realized I shouldn't have been so arrogant, and he came back."

"Long story short," she repeated.

He chuckled. "Long story short," he agreed. "Soon, I was one of those who have won a championship more than once, but also lost more often than not. But I had a record, and that was enough."

She chuckled, but he couldn't join in. The next part would be quite dangerous, he realized with a jolt, and fear claimed him, slinking onto his chassis and lines. She didn't fail to notice his silence at her laughs. She stared at him, his grim expression alarming her.

"Rodrigo?" she murmured. "Is anything wrong?"

"Remember your promise," he told her fiercely. "Please. For me."

She was stunned by the ferocity in his gaze and tone. "I will," she said clearly.

"Good." He sighed silently, waiting a few moments. "I…I'm not a virgin car."

"W-what?" she said shakily.

He looked away from her, staring at the grass. "Worldly pleasures got to me, and I gave in.

"I remembered Pearle and the scene in my head and how she liked it…and as I tried it out for myself, I didn't want it to stop."

He stole a glance at her, and she was staring at him with horror in her gaze. As her gaze met his, she looked away, and shook her front, eyes closed.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. He didn't touch her, knowing there was nothing he could do after the words he said. "Please don't be mad at me."

It was a while before she spoke. "People who do that are selfish, you know that?" she said hoarsely, like her energy had been sapped. "People who do that have nothing else to do in life."

"I know. And I'm sorry." His throat tightened in sorrow as he watched her. It was painful enough to have this; he didn't have to hear these kinds of things from her. But he chose to share this with her, and he would just have to deal with the consequences.

She looked like she was absolutely speechless, her mouth opening and closing in speech, thinking better of the things she wanted to say, her front shaking in dismay.

She promised she wouldn't get mad at him, but the aspect of him, the only and the first one she found love in and with, fooling around was too much. Just too much that her head and heart reeled with anger and resentment. She trembled in the shock. There were and were no words, but she promised him. _I promised._

"I'm sorry," she said finally, quietly. "It's just…it's a lot to take in."

He nodded. "I know."

"I…I need a little time to think about this, alright?" she moved forward after a sad glance at him, stepping out into the sun.

But he couldn't bear to let her leave. "The only reason why I haven't been doing any of that lately," he called out after her, "is because of you." He saw her taillights light up as she stopped. "Know that. Please."

She turned around to face him, her gaze decisive, saddened, uncertain and confused as she stared back at him, the sun's glare nearly blotting out the silhouette under the branches. It was a sign, she realized, that if she left, she would probably never see him again, at least, in time. With a few more moments of indecision she sighed, blinking away the resentment in her heart, and she moved to settle by him again.

"Know that I trust you, and that I believe you," she murmured, almost flatly. "The feeling of resentment at that will linger, but I'll push it away…for you."

He stared at her as happiness and love crashed into him, making him dizzy that he almost lost sight of her in the whiteness that threatened his sight, and he started nuzzling her fiercely. "Thank you," he repeated several times over. "Thank you for listening; I couldn't share this with anyone, not even Petro or my team." She was lightly shocked by his reaction, but he continued, crying softly, even after he felt her touch against his. "It was so hard to tell you, knowing you didn't like it, knowing you resented your family that did such…."

"Hush," she whispered, and his throat tightened all the more in gratitude and joy as he recognized the softness of love in her tone. "I love you; know that." He could hear her own voice tighten. "Know that I'll accept anything you do, who you are. I won't leave you for something as acceptable as that."


	13. Chapter 13

_Mwahahaha, I finally finished this! :D And yes, I've been busy with term finals, so sue me! xD_

_Dearest __**Pancake**__, you'll see soon enough. :) Oh and for the Ch.11 review, I thought it was awesome, because I usually feel that, you know, in that sort of moment. *blush*_

_^-^ Thanks so much, __**pizzachic**__! :D _

_And to my beloved __**Merestuffins**__, still giving awesome comments, I see. xD_

_Yes, typos…I type fast. ^-^" But I corrected those in this chapter this time. xD ^-^"_

* * *

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

The next day, as he went to see her before the others could, he found her quite subdued, but she nonetheless greeted him. He knew it was still because of his little secret that bothered her, but he kept quiet anyway. He wouldn't blame her; it was such a heavy thing to know that he had fooled around before her. It wasn't easy, but he tried his best not to notice.

Almost luckily, that day was an outing day, and roughly everyone was at the beach to enjoy the last of the summer sun before the Italian autumn really hit. Marlene and Carla were sunning themselves side-by-side with small talk. Margo was watching over Franco as they played with Francesco, other sitting by to watch as Francesco showed all once more how a car really handles a soccer ball. The rest were playing, swimming, eating or sunning themselves and talking. Miguel wasn't one of those that watched Francesco's exhibition, but instead kept his eyes, discreetly, on the silver car that had won him over as he stood not far from the playing trio.

"He-ey," someone crooned teasingly, and Miguel found Raoul nudging him with a tire, blue eyes playful.

"What?" Miguel asked, half-closed eyes glancing at his friend.

"Someone's staring."

Miguel glanced around casually before returning to his relaxed state. "What? Who?"

"You are, you halfwit," Raoul shot back smilingly. "You've been acting like a halfwit yourself these last two days. What's happened?"

"That's what we'd like to know," Rip said on Miguel's other side.

Miguel seemed to break out in a cold sweat at Rip's nearly menacing tone. "Er—"

Rip sighed, cutting him off. "Beautiful, isn't she?" he murmured.

This shocked the grand tourer. What was Rip trying to say?

"I suppose," Miguel replied cautiously.

Rip turned his pale green glare on Miguel. "You just 'suppose'?" Rip echoed in anger. "She's more than that!"

"You and I both know I don't like admitting more than I'd allow," Miguel snarled back, feeling hot with embarrassment.

Rip seemed shocked, and Miguel knew that Rip was wondering how much he cared. Yet, the Caparo conceded right after that, and it was quiet between the three for a moment as they watched the A7 stand by while Franco and his father played.

"What's so special about her, anyway?" Miguel asked, voice dripping with interest, but inside, he also felt jealousy. How can Rip know what Miguel himself knew?

Rip didn't seem to mind answering. His eyes and voice took on wistfulness as he stared at the A7 before them. "She's sweet, energetic, and understanding—enough to make a car go crazy. She has the fire of defiance and self-confidence, and is willing to defend her friends from anything or anyone that threatens them. She's loyal to friends and family. Also," he added with a smile, "her brown eyes are immensely beautiful." He sighed. "What I'd give to get back on track with her again."

Anger and jealousy surged through Miguel he barely restrained himself from hurling curses at his friend. He was left to tense instead.

"They say, as far as bachelorettes go in Porto Corsa, she's by far one of the best."

Miguel started slightly at Rip's murmur. _They_ say?

"Did they give a reason why?" he asked, curiosity and jealousy getting the best of him.

Rip nodded. "She's extremely helpful, by the looks of it," he replied. "Others claim you don't see a moment that, when she's home from work, she's not helping others with work and such."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The local boys claim that, not only is she that good-looking, her personality is one any car wants. Just that she's got this hot temper and defiance, so she's not so easy to control."

"Why hasn't she hooked up with any of them then?" he asked, wincing inwardly. He hadn't expected to use that term.

Rip winced, then glared at Miguel for a split-second. "She didn't like them," he said simply, recovering, but the suspicion in his pale green eyes didn't leave as he stared at Miguel. "Or they didn't like her. Most men shy away from dominant girls like her."

Miguel's lips twitched in amusement. He preferred dominance over submission most of the time, and none knew about that.

"I heard her say once she hasn't found the right one yet."

_That's all well and good but…. _"…how come you have such an interest in her?" Miguel asked, irritated by Rip's praise.

"Can you keep a secret?" Rip asked. As Miguel nodded, Rip continued, "We became more than friends for a time."

Why Margo hadn't told him this, Miguel wondered in annoyance. "Are you still…?"

"Sadly, no," the Caparo said sadly. "She said I wasn't the one for her, that it wasn't right."

Elation struck him so hard that moment it made his head dizzy. He would have yowled his ecstasy, but no; he wouldn't reveal the secret to his friend. Not yet.

"I'm…I'm sorry," he managed, trying to keep his tone slow and sad.

"Yeah, well, maybe we weren't meant to be, I suppose," Rip replied, shrugging. "Guess I'll just have to wonder who'll be her next victim, eh?" He nudged Miguel with his tire, staring at his friend in amusement and mischief.

Miguel chuckled uneasily. _Victim?_ he wondered to himself, then laughed alongside Rip. Maybe Rip had meant it in a nice way, just as he'd defined her.

The friends watched, right up until the ball hit Francesco's moving rear tire, and was thrown at an angle even Francesco could not reach. To Miguel's surprise, the Italian moved backward smilingly.

"Why move backward?" Raoul wondered aloud, voicing his friends' questions. But they didn't have to wait long for an answer.

The trio's eyes widened as Margo stepped forward. The force of that ball would surely dent her front! Miguel froze for a moment before he surged forward.

Yet, he didn't have to: her tire extended outward as she swerved sideways slightly, bouncing the black and white ball onto her fenders, moving just as quick and agile as Francesco, utilizing all available parts of her sleek, silver body in ways the men hadn't seen from a girl like her.

The trio stood there, mouths open as they watched the giggling twenty-year-old play with her cousin-in-law, passing the ball to and fro. Marlene and Carla hooted their approval as they watched.

As she turned though, forest colors met, and for a moment Miguel felt time freeze as they made a connection. Whether the connection lasted for mere seconds or a lifetime, Miguel didn't care. Rip was right: she did have immensely beautiful eyes.

Everything and nothing passed between them in the meager moment, when a voice called out her name. She turned, and the ball hit her square in the windshield. Miguel and a few others rushed to her aid. But she only shook herself, chuckling.

"Now that's what happens when you don't pay attention." Others chuckled with her, even Francesco, but even this could not reassure Miguel she was alright.

"I'll be fine," she told the others, but he knew by her smile at him that it was directed at him. He breathed in relief, and was able to laugh, too. "Francesco," she called out, "I'll take a breather." He replied his assent, and turned back to playing with his son.

She gave Miguel one soft glance, and turned to drive away. He laughed in wonder as he trailed after her, forgetting his discretion with regards to their new relationship. She squeaked as she heard him behind her, and he chased her from the outer limits of the crowd, laughing. She sighed in slight exhaustion as he finally sided by her, and they found a spot where they could sit and talk in the comfort of the solitude.

"Care to tell me how you learned to do those moves?" he asked.

She giggled. "Jealous?" she shot back teasingly.

His lips twitched in amusement. "Maybe."

She laughed this time. "Francesco taught me, and I found my own style."

He nodded in approval. "Nice."

"Thank you," she replied graciously, and they laughed together.

It was quiet for a moment; he knew he had to confront her about his friend, but how to do it?

"Margo?"

"Yes?"

He couldn't bear to deface her beautifully innocent gaze that quietly pierced his heart, knowing what he had to say would probably hurt her again.

"Is anything wrong?" she prodded. "You can tell me."

He took a deep breath. "What happened between you and Rip?"

Her gaze deviated from his. "I…I liked him more than normal friendship would allow," she said slowly. "Just for a little while."

Concern for his friend and for the fact even his friend might threaten their relationship out of jealousy warred in his heart. "What happened?" he repeated, voice low.

"He revealed his true colors to me, and…I didn't like it. So I just gave up altogether."

Miguel was startled. He could barely find anything wrong in Rip. "And…what turned you off?"

"He's a little…submissive. Quiet." She blinked thoughtfully. "I don't want a man that thinks I can handle everything."

He chuckled once, smiling slightly. "I used to think all girls were weak," he confessed, and she glanced up at him with surprise mild against the amusement in her gaze. "Right up until I met you."

She giggled shyly. "I've always resented my gender," she admitted. "I always thought that the men are luckier because they can do more than us girls can."

He felt pride in his heart, but then again, as his thoughts flew past his attention, he noted a little detail. He softened, sadness in his gaze. "Really?" As she nodded and opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off with, "Some of us thought women were luckier because they get to stay home all day."

"Yes, but you can't do anything at home all day but sweep the home. I want to take part in the breadwining."

He stared at her, amusement in his resigned expression. If he was correct, her tone suggested her mind wouldn't be changed.

"Why do you think I took up Mechanical and Electronic Engineering?" she shot back smilingly.

He blinked. "Why did you take up engineering?"

She rolled her eyes. "Stupidly logical car here," she replied, nudging him slightly.

"Noo!" he called out in mock horror. "The horror of mathematics…." Both laughed as she nudged him a little harder.

"Seriously, I did like math," he replied. "English as well. Science wasn't much."

"Really?" Amusement lit her gaze. "I never thought I'd take up Chemistry after high school."

He chuckled with her. "Yeah, well, I had to keep my grades up. Even I know that."

"Then again, why no college?"

He turned away. "I hadn't really thought about college."

She nudged him gently. "When you're ready, you can join me in college."

He stared at her. "I can?"

She nodded. "So long as you've finished high school, I think you can."

"Where are you going to study?" he asked. "Or, are you still studying?"

"I'm still studying, yes," she replied. "I'm on the last legs of my last year of my bachelor's in Mechanical Engineering."

He frowned. "But I thought—"

"_Minor_ in Electronics," she corrected. "Sorry."

"So, after you've passed your bachelor's…what next?"

"More work, I think," she put in, "then a new school."

He frowned again. "Why switch?"

Her gaze dropped from his, but she continued to smile. "I wanted to see the place, I suppose, you know, get some experience living internationally."

"That's no excuse."

"Really?" she shot back hotly. "Would you prefer I stayed here?"

"Well…" He couldn't answer that. What was she implying?

"Which one?" he asked instead.

"I've already searched and researched the place, and I've a few recommendations for it," she replied, voice gentle now. Her gaze was eager and wistful as she stared at him. "I'm going to apply for a place in the classes of the _Universidad de Navarre_."

His eyes widened in shock. "Why there?"

She stared back at him, trying to form words in her surprise.

"No, I mean…aren't there others?" he clarified.

Hurt replaced the calm in her gaze. "Don't you want me there?" she choked.

"No, I mean…." He sighed.

How bad could it be, he thought, for her to live in Madrid? Both of them could enter college together. Not only that, but they could have a place to stay, and provide for themselves, _together_. His mind whirled with the possibilities he imagined that he didn't notice the calling of his name.

"Rodrigo!"

"Huh? What?" He stared around wildly.

"Were you daydreaming?" she asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Ah, no." He grinned sheepishly, but she didn't seem that convinced. "Besides, if I ever daydreamed about anything, it would be about you."

Her gaze ducked away, and he only nuzzled her gently.

"Come on," she murmured. "We better get going; Francesco will be looking for us." With that, she moved forward, out onto the sand. He sighed sadly, wishing he could have stayed there all day by her side, but moved to her side by her anyway to join her on the way back. To his relief she nudged him lightly.

"Margarita!" the cousin-in-law called out angrily as they returned to the main beach. "Where have you been?"

"Exploring," the A7 replied casually.

Francesco glanced at Rodrigo behind her. "Why are you with Miguel?"

She rolled her eyes. "Francesco, you tell me I always need someone with me." Irritation was veiled in her voice as their friends started to crowd around a little. "Well, R-Miguel was that someone."

Francesco narrowed his eyes at Margo's hesitation. Miguel felt horror creep onto his chassis. What would Francesco say, not knowing what Margo was calling Miguel nowadays? But that Formula only turned his gaze on the grand tourer, saying nothing.

"Miguel wasn't someone I had in mind," Francesco swept on.

The A7's brown eyes flashed. "Is that how much you trust your friends, your family? That you expect me to get screwed the moment I'm out of your sight?"

Someone gasped, "Margo!" IT was the cousin-mother, Marlene.

"Don't you deny it's true!" the A7 half-spat, half-choked, her brown gaze resentful and glistening in the sun. "Don't you deny that no matter how hard I work, how hard I study, how long I stay at home, he still doesn't trust me!" She swerved around to leave.

Miguel stepped forth slightly. "Margo—"

"Leave me alone!" she snapped as she raced away.

Miguel turned to face the group, gaze scanning the faces there. Raoul was as stunned as a few others. Rip and Francesco were furious. Marlene was distressed.

He glanced at them, then towards the direction Margo had gone, then back, unsure of what to do. Would he stay by his friends and live up to their expectations, or risk his reputation with them and follow his heart?

He didn't have much to consider as he turned around, spraying sand behind him as he raced after her, a determined glare on his windshield. He snarled softly; his tires didn't have much purchase on the looks, dry sand. But he found her in the same spot they were earlier, crying.

"Oh, Margo," he called softly as he sided by her. "Don't cry," he murmured, but he could only nuzzle her quietly as they settled there.

"He doesn't want me to have anyone," she sobbed. "He seems determined to keep me single when he knows what being in love feels like!"

"Hush." He couldn't bear to see or hear her this way. "We'll find a way, I promise."

She stared at him, eyes red from crying. She only sighed, leaning against him, her crying reduced to pitiful sniffling.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, eye closed tiredly.

"Don't worry," he reassured her, and his voice lowered to a loving whisper. "I won't leave you.


	14. Chapter 14

_A pretty short chapter. :) I thought they needed a sweet one._

_Well **Pancake**, I just thought that, well, Italians were family-oriented, and I thought Francesco would be a lot more protective in the 'new life'. *heh*_

_There are a lot more authors that write better than me, **Mere**. :) The trick is to read, read, bread!_

* * *

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

That evening, the pair returned to the Bernoulli home. Francesco was nowhere to be seen. Miguel left Margo to her own devices to find Marlene.

"_Señora_ Bernoulli?" he called softly as he entered the baby room.

Marlene kissed Franco good night before leaving the room. "_Buona sera,_ Miguel," the R8 replied. "Is there anything you need?"

"If I may talk to you…about Margo," he said carefully.

"Come," she told him as she led the way down the hall.

"I was wondering what Francesco has against Margo."

"I _am_," she corrected gently. "You'd have known before hand by then." He chuckled sheepishly, and she only replied, "It's alright; nobody's perfect." She drove on, unfazed by his question, to the gardens outside. Crickets sang to the near-full moon.

"Miguel, you have to understand that Francesco is only being protective, and nothing else," she started fiercely. He only nodded quietly and briskly in reply, eyes wide with shock and fear. He saw her relax, and gaze out into the night.

"In the years she's been with us, Margo has been a…valuable asset…to us: working to keep us on our toes when Francesco hasn't a race weekend, helping to take care of Gianfranco, and pitching in the housework. As far as I know, I don't think we can take it if she falls into depression."

"…I don't see—"

"If you've felt heartbreak before, then perhaps you would know."

He swallowed as emotions and memories flooded through him: betrayal, anger, jealousy and sorrow. He nodded after a long moment, eyes low.

"Francesco doesn't want her to be with anybody not because he doesn't want to lose his best caretaker, but more because he doesn't want her to feel that way. He's very affectionate with her since they shared common interests, and, well, he loves her like a father should."

To Miguel, the last statement explained everything, and he nodded again, more prominent this time. He understood now. "But how come Margo looked like she doesn't know?"

"Because Francesco hasn't told her yet."

This startled the grand tourer. "Why not?"

"He's still in this stage where he can't seem to communicate his feelings to the outside world yet. At least, to anyone but me, and in his case, it's Margo."

"Ah," he said in understanding. "A man's pride."

She nodded, and grimaced slightly. It was one of the worst weaknesses a car can have, especially with the men. Miguel couldn't deny he also had this attribute, though.

"So tell me," Marlene started, "why her?"

Alarm surged through him, sowing in his widened eyes, until he relaxed. "How much do you know?"

"Very little; she's afraid to discuss things like that," she said sadly. "But I've seen the way she stares at you; I've heard the way she talks to you, and I know how she acts when she's—forgive me—itching to get back to you."

For a moment he couldn't believe how obvious her infatuation was.

"But I don't think I haven't seen you staring at her, she clipped, amusement in her mint green gaze. "Your incessant staring and displays of affection are necessary."

Miguel glanced down, headlights bright in the night, and Marlene chuckled.

"So, why her?" the R8 prodded.

"I…I don't rally know," he replied slowly. "She…she's shown me much: how to slow down, how to appreciate the finer things in life."

"Ah," Marlene said knowingly, smiling the same way. "You've had a rough life too, I presume?"

Miguel chuckled. "Was Francesco the same way?"

"Well, yes," she told him, "but the details might be different."

He knew better than to pry. "Probably different," he agreed.

"…that was the same reason Francesco loved me," she said. "That I'd, say, slow him down, I mean."

Miguel smiled, not looking at her.

"It felt…nice to know he appreciated me in return for the way I appreciated him."

"What was the way you appreciated him, _Señora_?" he asked her.

She stared back at him. "He showed me what I wanted and disproved many of my beliefs against him, as well as beliefs in what I wanted."

"What did you want?"

"Ah, well, what a youngster always wanted," "To know what love is."

Miguel blinked. He knew this made sense.

Marlene's mint gaze shone with amusement. "And you know how much alike my cousin and I are."

"Now it made enough sense. Now he knew what he could do for her. At this realization his face lit with a wide, ecstatic smile as he stared at the mother-cousin.

The R8 nodded. "Go on," she told him.

* * *

"_Gracias, Señora_!" he squeaked before turning to leave.

"This one's pretty," she murmured.

"Why don't you try it on?"

"Rodrigo, I don't even have money."

He stared at her. "That doesn't mean you can't see it on," he replied.

She sighed. "Fine."

Just like her cousin before her, Margo had been brought to a jewelry store. The only difference was they were just looking.

As her run was fitted with an intricate ring, topaz gems embedded in the silver, both glanced into a three-way mirror.

"It's prettier on you," he murmured.

"_Tigil_!" he heard her squeak. At his confused expression she clarified for him. "It means 'stop', sorry," she murmured. "I forgot you can't understand Filipino."

"No problem; I'm sure I'll learn."

She smiled softly, her gaze not meeting his. His tire brushed hers, and she giggled.

A sunny day had been bestowed upon Porto Corsa, and it was not only about the sun; everyone seemed happy as tourists had nearly doubled since the day before. So far that day they drove around, talking about the past and telling him about her old home.

He enjoyed life like this: warm weather, a good story, and someone he loved. He had absolutely forgotten his past, as well as his problems; he was happy.

Yet, his friend Tercio had always been right every step of the way: nothing, not even his happiness, was permanent.


	15. Chapter 15

_Sorry it's a little late and sorry it's a little short. ^-^" I got blocked when I was thinking how I could make them all come together... 78D_

_Yes, that's tea-gil or ti-gil(short ti) , __**Pizzachic**__. ^-^ It does mean stop, yes. We use it just about every time someone teases you in a friendly way wherein you feel 'that-tingly-feeling-when-you-think-of-that-guy' thing. xD Thanks for faving the lines! :D I dunno; just wait and see. I wanted this story to be as set apart from _Italian Love_ as possible, so there will be a change in plans. It should really be K+ if not for the suggestions. -_-_

_Hehe, bread. ^-^" Didn't see that, I suppose. Thaaanks, __**Mere**__stuffins~_

_I really, really, really hate dragging on with dialogue sometimes._

* * *

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

The end of the two-week vacation in Porto Corsa was coming to a close, and both the executive car and the grand tourer wanted to spend as much time as possible together before it ends, before they part ways. That day, both sunned quietly at the cliff that overlooked Porto Corsa's coastline and the town. As usual, Francesco hadn't really known who she'd gone with, nor did their friends. It was a quiet usual day at the Italian Riviera, and nobody complained about it.

"So, how do you think we'll meet up again?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," he murmured in reply, eyes closed. "I haven't really thought about it."

She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better and relaxed again. But it certainly vexed her. "I want to see you again after Sunday."

He opened his eyes slightly to find her anxious gaze on his, and his lips twitched in amusement at her enthusiasm to pursue this relationship. "But do we know when we both can be available?"

She looked away, disappointed. "Look," he started, unable to bear to see her this way. "I don't know what the future will bring. I may not be available for months; Petro prefers rigorous and consistent training. He doesn't want me to have any distractions. No offense," he added quickly as her gaze whipped to his, ready for a retort. "I mean…if you know what I mean." He didn't look away, though she expected him to. "You know, I can't really be torn between you and the championship," he told her after a pause, staring straight at her. "This time, I want to win this one…for you. And I can't have anything else distract me but the thought of you."

This stunned her to silence, eyes wide, until she relaxed beside him, smiling. "Silly car," she murmured affectionately, and he only grinned.

"Now you know," he whispered, nuzzling her absentmindedly.

"Now I know," she replied in the same tone, smiling.

"So tell me," he started just for conversation, "what's it like in the Philippines?"

"Well, it's dark," she commented. "I don't want to say any wrong, but I like it better in Europe."

"Any problem with Europe?"

"It's cold. The first time I got here my allergies went on for at least half a year." She shook her head. "Stupid change of temperature, change of weather."

"Allergies?" he asked. He hadn't encountered her with any lately.

"Change of weather, change of temperature, fur, dust, extreme scent, _et cetera_," she replied nonchalantly. "My mother was a rather sickly car."

"Oh."

She shrugged. "It runs in the family."

"And…what was this about Spain colonizing the Philippines?" he prodded.

"Three hundred years," she replied. "Fifteen-hundreds to late eighteen-hundreds. A lot of which has remained in Manila, really," she replied. "Intramuros is the place with the biggest influence, I think."

He nodded. He hadn't much interest in history, but it was a part of his, too. "So you're…?"

She glanced at him with amusement and a knowing look. "My great grandmama was Spanish."

His eyes bulged. "Are you serious?"

She nodded smilingly. "I'm dead serious. I dunno about my father's side though; he didn't say much."

"So your father is…?"

"American. As far as I know," she added hastily. "Back home I'd be called Fil-Am. Short for Filipino-American."

He nodded. "I see. So you'd had an interest in Spain before me?"

She thought for a moment. "Not really. I actually disliked Spain because it was had a negative impact on me because of, well, the history we have with you folks. Then I hadn't really realized I like a few modern characteristics about Spain, so I guess I was relatively interested."

His eyes glinted with interest. "Which characteristics?"

She laughed. "I had a thing for bullfighting, did you know that?"

He grinned. "No."

Her stoic stare sent the message of 'Are you serious?' He chuckled nervously. "Alright, so maybe I have."

"In fact, the matador was one of my personal heroes because of the courage and style in the ring." Her gaze and voice lowered. "It was why I chose you the first time."

There was a moment of silence as he thought of what to say. "I'm flattered you thought of me that way," he murmured, smiling at her.

She smiled back, and relaxed beside him. "Now, where was I? Oh yes; I remember thinking the heat of Spain was better than the romance of France…."

Both talked for hours at the time, not knowing how low the sun was getting, plunging the clearing into darkness as the bright yellow disc settled behind the cliff. Soon enough, they left the clearing, but drove slowly through the forest, still not wanting to part ways as abruptly as they'd met.

"Let's go to the docks," he told her. "I hear it's nice and cool down there in the evenings." And she let him lead her down the winding road to the coastal waters.

"The only coast that I can go to," he started mindlessly, "is the beach at San Sebastian, but it's always crowded there."

"Really?"

He shrugged. "It's a tourist spot. Who wouldn't want to see San Sebastian?"

She blinked in thought. "That's…at the far west, yeah? Just a little bit next to Navarre?"

"Yeah."

It was quiet between them after that as they cruised down the shipless docks, and he breathed in the cool sea breeze. She chuckled at him slightly; only her nuzzle canceled out the irritation he started to feel at being teased, even by her.

_He's cute when he shows he likes things, _she realized quietly.

He jerked his front to an empty port, and she nodded. He led her to it, facing the sun disappearing over the horizon.

"We don't have to really do this, you know," he murmured, not meeting her gaze. "You could…you could just come with me back to Navarre."

She glanced up at him, partly in alarm. "Rodrigo…you know I can't. Even I know I can't."

"Well, why not?" Frustration drove him to fury. How can she not go with him? He glared at her, promoting her to give him her justifiable answer.

She fidgeted uneasily under his glower. "M-my family needs me," she replied shakily. "I haven't settled everything with Francesco yet. We're still wondering how I can get through my master's without working because…because he wants me to focus on my studies." She turned away. "I'm sorry." There was a pause, and he turned away, too. "But if it's any consolation," she added, and he looked up, "I really want to go with you."

He didn't know whether to feel ecstatic or sad, or to comfort or rebuke her. He was as confused as she was, he predicted.

He nudged her corner bumper instead, and she looked at him. "We'll get through this," he told her. "I promise." When she hesitated, he added, "These are just little problems in a long way. You _will_ get through this, and I will help you."

She smiled at him, and returned the touch. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too."

After nearly the last of the sun had left, she spoke. "Come on; Francesco will wonder where I am."

He smiled as she did, and she led the way out. They made their way down the docks, but suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks a little way away.

"Rodrigo?" she asked. "Is anything wrong?"

His gaze was on a pearl white rear, its plate number all but a distant memory now. Only two words escaped his lips. "_Mi Perlita._"

The sightseeing Maserati turned, and beautiful sky blue met sexy forest green.

"Rodrigo?" the white grand tourer murmured, driving towards him. "Is that…"

"…really you?" he continued, inching towards her.

She smiled faintly. "Rodrigo."

"Oh, _¡mi collar de perlas!_" he whispered fervently before moving to nuzzle her fiercely, the A7 forgotten. It didn't matter how if she had betrayed him; he still loved her, wished for her.

"I've missed you," he murmured. "I've missed you so much."

Pearle took an inch back. "But you…you betrayed me."

"I know. I'm sorry," he told her softly. "But in the days, weeks, months, years that followed, all I ever wished was that I'd stay with you."

To the side, Margo stiffened, swallowing back tears. Was this how he betrayed his women? Flitting around from car to car like a bee from flower to flower? Was this why he, _the_ Miguel Camino, couldn't find anyone, because he betrayed all the time?

The GranTurismo's gaze glistened in the orange light. "Me too."

Happiness surged through him, his heart swelling with love and ecstasy, and he sighed as he nuzzled her.

Angrily Margo glared at the cobblestones, and quietly turned away. She had no interest in a man who was 'taken'. As far as she was concerned, she'd been duped.

"Er, Rodrigo?" MArgo overheard Pearle ask.

"Yes. my dove?"

"Who was that?"

Miguel looked up to see Margo driving away, and a pang of hurt sliced through him. He hadn't realized she'd watched the _entire_ exchange without him noticing. Much worse, he'd said things that she didn't want to hear. He moved forward, but he knew it would be of no use; she wouldn't listen to him now, not when he'd openly confessed his love for Pearle again. He sighed.

"Who was that?" she repeated.

"Someone," he told her quietly. "A friend."

"Close?"

He stared at her. He didn't want to offend Pearle, but he didn't want to lie to her, either. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Sort of."

"Not too close, I hope," she chuckled.

"No," he whispered, staring after the silver rear tinged orange longingly. "No."


	16. Chapter 16

_Wow, that was a really…big…review, __**pizzachic**__. It was a very awesome review to read, believe me; I don't think I read a greater review with such feeling! xD Not to put down Mere or Pancake or Miss Shadoru or anyone, but yours struck me. Hard. I felt so awesome at that moment; I couldn't believe I could make someone feel that strongly for a character of mine. Thanks for that. And oh, yeah, you got the names wrong again. xD I think it's because you were excited to write your ideas down, so I think I'll leave it at that. xDD_

_Well, I figured that Miguel still 'lives' in the past, so to speak, __**Pancake**__. I mean, I used to dwell about my past (yes I've had a very disturbing childhood) and 'lived' in it (you know, dwell and be depressed, continuing the bad attitude thing that came from such) and I wanted that part to be a part of Miguel because it was an awesome personality characteristic I could work around/with. And yes, if you've re-read the past chapters, he is a player, and no, she's not, and you'll see soon how frisky Pearle can be._

_To my __**guest reader**__, thanks for reading! I hope you have a good time seeing this story through! I just wish I could get your name though; there are a lot of guest readers out there. xD_

_Well __**Mere**__, I don't think there's anything I could say for now. I won't go all 'TMI' for the public for you, but I'd like to say congrats, and thanks. :)_

_Uwaaa, you guys might want to re-read the whole thing; I edited her education!_

_Whoops, long A/N! xD_

* * *

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

He sat in the hotel room, his temporary quarters plunged into shadow. Beside him was his first love, sleeping soundly, tired after last night. He glanced out the window; the sky was lighting up already, but he couldn't see the east horizon; his windows faced the west. Just as her balcony did.

He felt sad that he turned Margo away, and even worse when he caught anger in her usually smiling brown eyes. He hadn't known why the A7 he'd come to love just turned away. But he wanted to know. He felt he should.

With that in mind, he slowly slid out of the bed and wrote a note, saying he'd be back. He put it where she can see it, and took off, heading for the Bernoulli home.

The sun still wasn't fully up yet when he got there. He knocked on the door, and as usual, Giacomo answered. But the usual calm façade of the butler was gone as soon as the Italian faced the Spaniard; it changed from calm to amazement to veiled anger.

"_Signore_ Camino," he greeted flatly.

"Giacomo," Miguel replied, confused as to why Giacomo was acting like this. "May I enter?"

Giacomo scrutinized Miguel with narrowed eyes for a long moment, and the latter shifted uneasily. "No," Giacomo said finally, slamming the door in Miguel's face.

"Wh-Giacomo, wait!" he cried out, slamming the door open with such force the butler was thrown back.

The small forklift tried to block the larger car, but to no avail. _He's fast; I'll give him that_, Miguel thought for a moment as he pushed past, Italian curses flying at him. Miguel zoomed up the ramp, and the sliding door slid open. Apparently, she hadn't expected him to come by.

He didn't find her in there, but he realized her room seemed…off. Like something had changed. A closer look at her things proved his gut to be right.

Pictures were taken down, books were pulled out of their places in the shelves, the lot ending up in a neat pile to the side. She put a note for Giacomo, for the things to be thrown out.

_"What are you doing here?_" a voice said, one he never thought he'd hear cold, flat, angry and empty.

He turned to face the girl he'd left, and a pang of hurt, sharper than the pain of a ruptured line, sliced right through his chest. Suddenly his throat felt dry as he watched her.

She wasn't frowning, but he could see the ice in her dark brown gaze no blue iris can match. Her lips didn't even twitch like they used to, and she stood tall on her tires, daring him to say anything.

"I-I wanted to see you, actually," he stammered, his gaze lowered as if her were talking to a queen.

"What for?" she said in the same cold tone. "Was she that bad? That she actually bored you in bed?"

Anger surged through Miguel, hard and fast. "You've no right!" he roared. "You've no right to say that!"

"And you absolutely had no right to leave me for her!" her voice rang throughout the home, echoing through the halls and in the larger ballroom.

"I decide what I want to do with my life, not you!" he shot back. "Who are you to control my life? You're not my mother!"

Her eyes widened, and satisfaction flooded him. She was stumped.

She looked away as his gaze bore into her, and she shook her front slightly. "You promised, Miguel," she said quietly. He winced at the change of his name. "You promised you wouldn't leave me. You said you left her. You told me the only reason you stopped fooling around was because of me." Her voice lowered with tightness and sorrow. "You said you love me."

"But I do love you!"

She glanced at him, eyes brimming with sadness. "Why'd you leave then?"

The question stopped him dead in his tracks. Now _he _was stumped.

"I thought so," she murmured, front and eyes low.

"But I do love you," he repeated softly once he could move again, and he nudged her corner bumper with his. "I really do."

Her gaze flicked upwards to meet his, hope in her brown eyes. "Really?" A smile tugged at her lips.

He smiled at her. "Really. I wouldn't lie to you."

She chuckled, feeling the tears fall. She laughed quietly with her, relieved it was all over.

At least, for that moment.

"Don't you dare promise anything to her!" a voice growled, and both turned to face Francesco standing there with a full-blown brown glare. Marlene was there, and moved to pull the swayed cousin to the side.

"Rodrigo," Margo called softly as she was nudged away. Her voice rose in panic as she realized what was happening. "Rodrigo!"

"Margo!" he replied, but Francesco had sent Giacomo to hold Miguel back. This time, the butler was strong under orders. The grand tourer glared at Francesco. "What do you think you're doing?" he snarled.

"Stopping you from fooling her," Francesco growled, and Margo's pitiful cries stopped; only her sniffling remained.

_"What?" _Miguel was both shocked and enraged.

"I can see myself in you," Francesco told him. "A younger self, at least. What you're doing—I gave up on it well rough the same time I realized my love for Marlene." He didn't glance at Marlene, but his gaze was as stern as a father's. "And I haven't done it since." His gaze hardened. "You should realize, Miguel, that other women don't and won't matter once you've found _her_, and that you shouldn't take advantage of a girl's weaknesses."

Just then, there was a shrill cry to the side, and the men glanced to the women, where they found Margo's front pressed to MArlene's side, crying.

"You see?" Francesco's voice was quiet. "It doesn't help when you do that."

"How could you!" Margo sobbed, facing the car she thought had been hers just a moment ago. "How could you do such a thing; I trusted you!" Marlene didn't bother to push her cousin back.

"But I was telling—"

"No!" she shrieked. "I know what your'e doing," she snarled. "Francesco already shared some antics with me, and I'm not going to be fooled like all the others." She paused for a moment as dread slunk on his chassis. "Leave!" she cried out. "Leave, and never come back, since you didn't love me, since you don't' care for what I feel, since you don't' care that I love you!"

"But—"

"I will not be a man's accessory; I will not be considered a weakling, and I will not be taken advantage of!" she snarled as they were bumper to bumper, eyes glaring into his. "Now, _labas,_ _togliersi, sortez, herauskommen!_" She narrowed her eyes. "_¡Vete!_"

His eyes widened. They all meant the same thing: _get out._

"And don't come running to me, saying you're sorry."

He turned and fled, away from the family, and as he shot past the threshold of the front door, he swore he could hear her crying.

He returned to the hotel room to find Pearle there, and the Maserati rushed to him. "Rodrigo, I was worried about you!" she said, nuzzling him.

He smiled weakly. "I wasn't far."

She stared at him. "Are you tired?" she asked.

"A little, yes."

"Come, then; let's get you to bed." She led him to the mattress, but not even the cushions or her soft touch could relax his distraught heart.

If anyone asked him, he preferred Pearle's quietness instead of the A7's heavy emotions.


	17. Chapter 17

_Hey guys! Short, I know, but it's filler~_

* * *

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

Every Sunday, it was either the culminating event of a race weekend, a celebration of the Lord's day of rest, or one of vacation just before the working week started again. This Sunday was supposed to be a happy and sad one, but only because the visitors of friends and family were to leave and say 'bye to one of the newest members of the racing family: Little Gianfranco Bernoulli. Yet, to some, the day was none of those reasons.

When Lewis had given Miguel's excuse to leave early without saying his wishes and farewells, Francesco had been furious. "That car only lives next door!" he snarled. A few others grumbled assent; others remained silent. The silver cousin-in-law was one of the latter.

"I'm sorry we couldn't convince him," Rip apologized as he caught her alone.

Her corner bumper touched his. "Don't be," she replied quietly. It was his decision not to share."

The Caparo could sense the anger, resentment and sorrow in her voice, but said nothing. He pressed close to her side. "How much I wish I could be the one in your heart," he murmured all too wistfully.

She nuzzled him, sighing. "I'm sorry you couldn't be, but your'e right. I wish it were you, too." She glanced away. "But it's not." Her voice caught at the end.

He smiled faintly. "That's just the way things are, aren't they?"

"I'm sorry," she apologized, voice no more than a whisper.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against her slightly. "I love you," he breathed.

She returned the favor, eyes sad but gentle. "I love you, too," she permitted before pulling away, and he knew that, even it wasn't in the most conventional sense, it was as good and answer as he was ever going to get.

As everyone else departed, Marlene caught her cousin in her room,, right in its center. Franco and Francesco arrived right behind the R8, and the young Formula squeaked, alerting the A7 that they were there.

"Marlene," Margo called. "Francesco. Franco."

"Aren't you doing after him?" Marlene asked quietly as the family entered the room.

Margo shook her front. "He's made it clear he doesn't want me," she murmured. She glanced at each one of them before speaking. Giacomo had joined them, at his master's and young master's side. "And besides, I wouldn't leave you guys for such a reason as that."

Francesco smiled, and Marlene left her cousin's notions alone as the A7 moved to hug her fold.

"You guys are my family, and family comes first.

As he was one the plane to Navarre, he couldn't believe how he'd just left her without saying good-bye. Her words echoed in his ears. _Don't come running to me, saying your'e sorry._

He frowned, determination in his heart. He'd follow her this time.


	18. Chapter 18

_Sorry I made you cry, __**Mere**__…I don't know how to take that…as a compliment or something else. xDD_

_Aw, I won't be better than some others, __**pizzachic**__. :) But thanks for that~_

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

When he arrived at his hometown in the province of Navarre, everyone stared at him, and news of his return home had spread like wildfire. It was all in the papers the next day.

He'd moved into Pearle's new home, somewhat smaller than he'd expected—no, scratch that—it was _smaller_ than he'd expected. It was too cozy for a Maserati like her; she should have been living in a mansion, like the ones they used to live in as children. He wondered mildly what got into her mind for her to live like this.

In the weeks that passed, he once again got to know what she had become: a hardworking businesswoman who's turned on a new leaf in terms of love. In the previous years, she'd had only one or two steady boyfriends after Miguel, and had reported she hadn't been touched since she successfully had no children.

Soon enough, a bullfight had been scheduled in Pamplona's own dozer ring, and Pearle had reserved seats.

"I thought you might want to watch," she said sheepishly.

And then, they were seated in the coliseum-like infrastructure, watching.

Miguel enjoyed every bit of it, remembering his former career, right until the _tercio de muerte_, literally translated as 'third of death' or 'death third': the third and killing phase of a full-blown, Spanish-style bullfight. Much to his surprise, a car in black and gold and another in dark red and gold entered the ring as a pair. The black one smiled confidently, the other in red much more meekly. And what surprised him more was that, in the announcement, it was Tercio and Benedicto.

The whole of the female crowd screamed assent as their gazes scanned the audience. Even Pearle couldn't suppress a squeak.

Fifteen minutes, he thought. He only had to wait fifteen minutes, and then it would be over. Yet, it was one of the worse fifteen minutes he ever sat in, but also one of the best, watching his old friends weaving past each other as they played with the released dozer. Miguel couldn't help shouting _¡olé!_ in his anticipation as he watched.

As the show ended spectacularly, the crowd dispersed, but Miguel remained, heading 'backstage'.

"But you can't go in there! They aren't allowed to see anyone," Pearle told him, but he didn't listen. When he'd reached the so-called changing rooms, he not only heard squeaks and female voices, but his own friends', both laughing and crooning. Miguel opened the door to find Tercio, Benedicto, and two other girls.

"Tercio, Benedicto!" Miguel gasped.

"Miguel?" Tercio called. "How long as it been?"

"Too long, my friends!" Miguel replied, and the three friends exchanged greetings.

"Is that Miguel Camino?" one of the girls squeaked.

"The one and only," Benedicto replied, quiet pride in his voice.

"Wow," the youngest one said in awe.

"And who are these _very_ beautiful ladies?" Miguel asked smilingly. But his expectation that the girls would giggle didn't come true, and soft-spoken Benedicto stepped forward, stance defensive.

"They're, er, fans," he replied.

"And close friends," Tercio added quickly.

Miguel blinked, surprised. "What? I'm confused."

"Ladies, will you excuse us a moment?" Tercio asked gently, and the women left. The black and gold car stepped forward. He breathed deeply before speaking. "Don't be mad, but…they're…they're our girlfriends," he said slowly."

"I…I thought you both vowed you'd be bachelors forever?" Miguel asked.

"Yeah, but…" Tercio seemed to weigh his words carefully. "…but life gets boring when you're alone."

Miguel nodded, knowing all too well. "So, how did you, er, meet?" He almost said, 'end up with them'.

"We-el, they were fangirls at a party, so…." Benedicto sighed, gazing into space. "I still remember the day I met Madge."

Tercio's eyes took on the same look. "It was weird, don't you remember?" he murmured. "Imagine, sisters!"

Benedicto chuckled. "I'm kind of glad you took up Raquel; I imagined she was a challenge."

The door burst open. "I thought you liked challenges!" the youngest girl spoke again, and Miguel now took not of her English accent.

"Oh, Madge," Benedicto called affectionately. "Only in a fight do I like challenges." He kissed her fender slightly. "But out of it, I like to relax."

Madge squeaked slightly before nuzzling him back.

The other car, who Miguel assumed was Raquel, sided by Tercio. "And you?"

Tercio only laughed. As he settled, his eyes were playful. "You know challenges are my style." Raquel giggled at Tercio's low growl.

"Guys?" Miguel interrupted awkwardly. "Care to introduce?"

"Sorry, Rodrigo," Tercio apologized smilingly. "This bella flor of mine"—he nuzzled Raquel slightly—"is Raquel."

"And this is her sister Margaret," Benedicto added, voice proud and affectionate as he stared at Madge.

"How long have you been together?"

"Er…six months?" Tercio mused.

"Each?"

"Well, yeah," Benedicto shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, we did meet them at a party, after all."

Miguel swallowed, realizing the turn of events. Tercio's and Benedicto's words and stories all seemed like an omen, and the world he left, the world he forced away, came surging back, into his vision, in a rush. A fresh wave of hurt sliced through him, making him frown.

"Miguel?" Tercio called out, and Miguel snapped back to reality. "You alright?"

Rodrigo blinked. He hadn't noticed his horrified expression. "Yeah," he said quickly. "I'll be fine."

Benedicto tipped his front slightly to the side. "How come you don't have anyone with you?" he asked.

"Oh, she's outside," he said quickly. _Outside Spain, to be exact_, he added silently, remorsefully.

Tercio nodded. "I predict you found love before we did."

"Well…maybe."

Tercio and Benedicto burst into laughter. "You always were a favorite of the ladies, Rodrigo!" Benedicto called laughingly.

Miguel could only put on a cold smile, irritated. Was that how his friends saw him: a flirt? "But that doesn't mean I have a favorite among the ladies."

The friends stopped laughing, and Miguel's smile faded. The golden grand tourer's front bowed as he closed his eyes.

"Oh, Rodrigo…" Benedicto murmured sadly.

"Something tells me you're not telling us everything," Tercio said, tone straightforward. There was a pause of confirmation. "Don't you trust us?"

"It's not that guys, I…" He paused, sighing inwardly. "I was afraid you'd judge me. _Just as the media, the women, have judged me…just as I'd judged Margo._

Tercio and Benedicto exchanged bewildered glances, before the former stepped forward. "You're our friend, Rodrigo. We won't judge you for a million euros."

Miguel smiled at Tercio. "Just one million?"

The friends laughed. "Well…you get the point."

"So really, what's going on?"

Miguel blinked, pausing. "You guys remember Pearle, do you?"

The friends gasped. "You…you hooked up with Pearle?"

"Well…not in that sense," he stammered.

"Rodrigo, hadn't you known?" Benedicto whispered. "Pearle is Navarre's biggest"—he swallowed—"slut."

Miguel's eyes widened. "What!" he whispered in shock.

"How do you even know about that!" Madge cried out.

"Well, when we go drinking with the boys, well…" Benedicto stammered, trailing off. "It's not what it is, I swear!"

"Believe me, we're more intimidated by those kinds of girls than anyone else," Tercio grumbled in anger. "We were ambushed once, it scared us half to death."

"What happened?"

"At a performance," Tercio replied loudly. "How else?"

"H-how did she turn out this way?"

"No-one really knows," Benedicto replied softly. "They say she left home for it. "Others claim she was kicked out." The red and gold matador trembled before he stared at Miguel, brown eyes fierce. "Miguel, she'll only betray you again."

Miguel nodded at the revelation. _If Pearle did love me, she'd tell me._

"So, _are_ you with Pearle?" Tercio asked.

"Well, no idea," he replied. "After this, well…"

Someone gasped, and everyone stared at Raquel, her eyes wide. "How can you stay with her?"

"It's his decision, Raquel," Tercio told her gently, although Miguel could see uncertainty in his eyes.

"But Tercio, this is a woman who takes advantage of men," he squeaked. "What if, just because he's your friend, you got…."

"I won't, _mi corazón_," Tercio replied lovingly. "I won't."

Miguel noticed the exchange with a heavy heart. Out of instinct and habit he wished Margo was here now, talking happily with Tercio and Benedicto upon introduction. But then, he realized, he couldn't wish for her now; he was the one who left.

Was this how Pearle felt nearly thirteen years ago? He didn't know, but he was pretty sure it was.

"Oh, hey, amigos, I better go," Miguel told them. "It's getting late, and you guys might be tired."

Benedicto blinked. "Not really," he said, glancing at Madge. He winked at her, and the young girl giggled shyly.

"That's the dirtiest thing I've ever heard you say, Benedicto," Tercio commented laughingly, and Benedicto shrugged. "Go ahead, Rodrigo," Tercio turned o Miguel, his deep blue gaze gentle.

The golden grand tourer nodded before heading for the door. Tercio followed to close the panel, but not before murmuring, "Good luck deciding, Miguel."

Miguel jerked around to find Tercio smiling knowingly at him before closing the door. Miguel shook his front as he turned, smiling. He sighed. Tercio had a way of knowing things, right from the start.

And then, as he drove home, his mind wandered to wonder if he should confront Pearle about his findings. He told himself no; he knew she would show her true colors soon enough.

But why did he have the gut feeling something else would help him decide?


	19. Chapter 19

_So, I'm sick and tired of the usual 'accident-fall-back-in-love' thing, so I'm going to do it over instead! 8D I saw this happen once, you know, two people in one room. 83_

* * *

**_Chapter Nineteen_**

Over six months and she still thought of him. Six months, and she still hadn't thrown out the pile of items that held her favorite golden grand tourer. Six months, and her heart still hurt.

She had stopped moping around after two months, knowing she'd only dampen its usual happy, homely charisma. But during free days, nights and moments, she visited the clearing, quietly dwelling. At times she would sit in her room, gazing up and down her bookshelves, wondering from how many more and what books she could fill the empty spaces with to what the previous books that sat there held for reading. Marlene and Francesco knew better than to tell her off or to tell her otherwise; they knew only time could heal this type of wound.

Travelling around the world to race was, safe to say, a nice excuse to go see the better places in other countries. On some days Francesco would ask the family to fly over to where he was racing, and this was one week he did so. He was due to race at Catalonia in two weeks; enough to tour Spain for a little while. At Marlene's request, they'd gone to Pamplona, Navarre. Although the A7 was very reluctant to go, not to mention against the very idea, she was convinced that all four of them needed to see more of the world, and this was one place to start. And to top that off, they dined one night at a posh restaurant.

"Well, this is a change, Francesco," Margo commented once. "You don't usually like going out."

"I felt it was right," he replied, smiling.

Although attempts at conversation failed, the family still enjoyed their meal, and left very much satisfied.

As they took a little stroll in the quiet night air, little Franco squeaked as he and his aunt raced forward, playing slightly. Marlene and Francesco looked on smilingly; Margo seemed to forget all else.

_It's nicer this way, _she thought as she smiled into the young Formula's excited eyes. _Where there aren't any problems._

_But how can you appreciate happiness without sorrow?_ a small voice murmured.

_Hmm. Got a point there, _she commented.

Suddenly, she heard faint voices, whooping and laughing. She paused to listen. In the same heartbeat Franco veered off into the wide, open road, when Margo realized how fast the income cars were going.

"_Gianfranco!_" she shrieked before leaping in front of him, absorbing the full force of the impact.

So maybe…this is it. The salvation I've been looking for.

"Margo! Gianfranco!" Marlene screeched after a moment of shock, and approached the wreck with Francesco. She first rushed to her crying son before she turned to see her cousin.

"Oh, no," she murmured as she found her cousin's eyes closed. "Margo?" she murmured as she nudged her cousin. "Margo?" she called a little louder. Hysteria rose in the R8's throat. "Margo!" she wailed, starting to cry.

"Marlene," Francesco murmured.

"What are you doing, standing there?" Marlene wailed at him. "Go and get help!"

Francesco stared at her, shocked, before he dashed away.

Marlene examined her cousin. Her side was absolutely dented beyond repair. Her front bumper was smashed, her hood pleated like an accordion. There was barely a spot that Marlene could touch her cousin, knowing it wouldn't hurt her.

"You'll be fine, sweetheart," Marlene murmured. "You'll be just fine."

Officials and medics arrived moments later, pulling away the cars of the wreckage and taking Margo to the nearest emergency room. The family followed, waiting for the doctor's verdict after hours that seemed like months.

The doctor, a Mercedes in white, left the emergency room, his expression serious. The parents moved forward, their hopes low but faces expectant.

It was a long while before the doctor spoke. "…most of her engine and her chassis had to replaced," he told them.

"Oh, no!" Marlene whispered, and Francesco pressed his side to hers.

The doctor swept on, though his voice trembled. "We'll go through with the surgery because there's no other choice."

Marlene nodded, crying now, and the doctor quickly turned away as if he, too, was about to cry at the drastic result. As she calmed down, Francesco tended to his son, sleeping quietly by the wall, before settling himself there.

Marlene knew she couldn't sleep She had to call Giacomo first, then text others as soon as she could. And then, and exceptional phone call she knew she needed to make.


	20. Chapter 20

_Oh, only Mere reviewed...oh, well~ You got that right, hon; Pearle's nothing but trouble, but then again, what evil ex-gf isn't?_

_Has anyone else noticed that I wrote this wrong? I was supposed to do a school scene, creating a stupid extension for this story, but I wasn't thinking straight two months ago... Not to mention I'm two months due for a few chapters!_

_So, I replaced Ch19; please do check it out!_

* * *

**_Chapter Twenty_**

She giggled, squeaking, and he crooned softly, a murmur of a string of words he knew she wanted to hear. The next sound was a small sigh of his name, a gentle reply that made his heart swell. Yet, the feeling didn't match how he felt when he was in _their_ clearing.

As the night started, he clearly was in no mood to play, but he wouldn't deny Pearle what he knew he promised: his love for her. His mind drifted to his past, roughly four months ago, and found himself comparing his life now to how he was before.

She came to him not because he was handsome or sexy or great at night or because he was Miguel Camino. She came to him because she liked him genuinely, that she was willing to show him that there was more to life than just that kind of live without he knowing it, that love couldn't be determined by how you look, what you say, how rich you were, or how others knew you.

He, in turn, welcomed her into his life just as any friend would. But this was not fueled by his ache for passion; instead it was by deep interest to know what he'd missed. And now, he missed _her._

After his talk with Tercio and Benedicto, roughly two weeks ago, he barely stopped thinking about the silver A7, trying to pit whatever he'd known of her against what he knew of Pearle; he knew it was no contest. But why would he stay with the Maserati? Oh, that was right: he was materialistic; superficial; he lived in the past; and he didn't want to lose her again.

He struggled with the indecision, thoughts of Margo flowing into his mind whenever he found pleasure in the shadows of the night, leaving him restless and frustrated to no end. But Pearle wouldn't let him back down now.

Suddenly, his cellphone rang, a shriek against their subtle murmurs. She groaned in irritation as he left her side to see what was going on. Checking the screen, there was an incoming call.

"¿_Hola?_" he called into the line.

"Miguel? Is that you?" a strained yet familiar voice spoke.

His heart twisted as the name registered in his mind. "_¿Señora Bernoulli?_"

She didn't have to confirm. "Miguel, it's…it's Margo," she swept on. "There's…there's been an accident."

Alarm, worry and fear gripped him as Marlene relayed everything to her cousin's old friend. There was silence for only a few seconds as she let everything sink in.

"I just thought you might want to know," she told him. "She…she would have wanted you to know."

He didn't know what to say, but even so, his throat had closed in love and sorrow. _She hadn't stopped loving him after all._

"Th-thank you for letting me know about this, _Señora_," he murmured shakily.

"Okay." Her voice was quiet as the line disconnected. He pressed the red button to cancel the ominous dial tone.

"So, who was that?" Pearle asked him.

Her voice pierced his heart as it made him remember the decision he'd made. He stood there for a moment before turning to face her.

"Miguel?" He glanced at Pearle's worried tone. "What's wrong?"

"It's Margo," he said lifelessly. "…she's had an accident."

"…what happened?"

"Car crash."

"Oh." She was disinterested, but seemed to make an effort to be the opposite. "She was the one you argued with, right?"

He found it hard to swallow. "Yes."

She stepped off the patterned covers and sided by him. "I'm sure she'll be alright," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

He nodded his front slowly. The A7 was a strong car; she said so herself. She proved so herself. But what in hell was that feeling that tugged at his attention, his heart?

He turned back to the present, gazing upon the sky blue orbs that had caught his heart a decade ago and smiled. He didn't have to worry about Margo now; she was in good hands with Francesco and the rest of their friends.

He nudged Pearle gently to the covers, where she giggled, all thoughts of her rival gone. He laughed playfully, but nothing they did that night satisfied or distracted him. His gaze was distant; his touches clumsy; his whispers unintentional; his smile fake; his thoughts past the borders of Navarre, of Spain itself.

It took him only a week and a half to go mad with sorrow, frustration and anger. Not at anyone else, but at himself.

He left the only love he knew was right.

_I can't eat. I can't sleep. What's wrong with me?_ he thought to himself. _I can't focus on events right; I almost got lifted into the air today._

He only needed to glance at the news article online, and that was the end of the line.

When Pearle returned home one evening, she found him packing. She wondered to him, with a laugh, what was going on.

"I have to go," he said lifelessly.

She spluttered, "Where are you going?"

"Italy."

"Whatever for?" His silence answered for her. "Back to _her?_" she gasped in a near-shriek. "Are you serious?"

"Yes to both."

"But I thought you didn't want her! I thought you wanted me, that you loved me," she cried out, and nudged him roughly, making him do a hundred-eighty. His green eyes were empty, as lifeless as his voice; his look haggard rather than full of life. But her teary blue eyes persisted. "You promised!"

"But sometimes people break their promises!" he snapped back at her. Unable to contain his anger and at the truth of her any longer, he spat, "Just like you!"

"Wh-what? What are you talking about?"

"Tercio and Benedicto, they told me what you do," he snarled at her, his eyes green fire. "But tell me, _what do you do for a living? _What do you do in the day?"

She was taken aback, and swallowed, eyes wide with surprise. "I-I can't tell you."

"Then I can't tell you I love you!" he replied, turning back to his luggage. "After all these months, I've never known what you do for work! Oh, that's right: you never told me!"

"But Rodrigo—"

"Then tell me," he snarled slowly as he turned to her, bumper to bumper, teeth gritted in anger, eyes containing a full-blown glare at her, each word as venomous as his passion. "Tell me what you do for a living."

She kept quiet.

His voice was still low and menacing. "You work to serve men pleasure, don't you?"

Her eyes rivaled platters. "How—"

He pushed her away roughly, his eyes pricking with tears. She didn't deny it.

"_After all of this time I thought you were loyal to me!_" he shouted in his native tongue. "_After all I've done to you, for you, with you, you never told me!_"

"_You wouldn't have approved!"_

"_Of course I wouldn't! Who in their right mind would do that?"_

"_Rodrigo, please—"_

"_Don't 'Rodrigo' me, you stupid…._" He cussed her out in every word he knew in every language he learned. Pearle could only cry at this assault.

"_I loved you for the longest time, and this happens! What!_" To say that he couldn't get over the shock was an understatement; he was driven to the verge of madness.

The longer he ranted, the closer he got to losing it. Fear struck in the roots of Pearle's lines.

She was selfish. She knew that. But she thought she was playing harmlessly. Not this time.

"_Rodrigo, please!_" she called out. "Please, stop." She cowered back, eyes closed, front low.

"Why should I?" he snapped. "You never stopped lying to me!"

"Then I will!" she cried out, tears glistening in her eyes. "Please. Just don't be like this."

Panting, he tried his best to calm down, but by only a fraction. He turned around.

"I'm leaving."

"Wh-what?"

"I'm leaving, Pearle." He strode to his closet.

"Why? Rodrigo, you—"

"You're nothing to me anymore," he replied in a terrifying calm. "You lied to me. You were selfish. All you wanted was the fame, the fortune, that my career gave you." He glanced at her through his rearview mirrors. "You never loved me."

She opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. She was like that, standing there, while her childhood 'love' started and finished packing his things. With one final, contemptuous glance at her, he drove out of the room, out of the house.

And this time, he didn't look back.


	21. Chapter 21

_Not even a thousand words…legasp! D8 __Hope you like it~ x3_

_I'd just like to say a **GREAT BIG THANK YOU** to **pizzachic**. Hon, I woke up to two amazing reviews. 8D_

_...I think I got things wrong at a few reactions..._

* * *

_**Chapter Twenty-One**_

Gianfranco squealed slightly, and his father shushed him as the others in the room chuckled, the joy continuing as the young Formula turned to pout slightly.

"Oh, leave him be, Francesco," the aunt said weakly, coughing. "The young deserve to be free for a while." She coughed again a few more times.

"Miss, it would be best if you stopped talking," the head nurse told her. The doctors hit your throat; it could open again and you could choke."

The A7 sighed. "I wish some cars weren't so careless," she murmured. "I hate being confined."

"Well, it's a consequence of their actions," Rip told her. "I suggest you sue."

"When I recover," she managed, "I'll think about it." Another bout of coughing racked her body then, coughing so hard the visitors stiffened, afraid she would retch. "Ah," she rasped. "I don't think I'll ever forget Dad this way."

Francesco laughed. "Why you inherited your father's cough, I'll never understand."

Margo shrugged. It didn't matter now.

It was over a week and half since the incident, and she'd already had two surgeries down the line: one for the replacement of lines, another for her wrecked engine. She was waiting for a possible third; if her throat couldn't last they'll have to stitch it right back up again and wouldn't be able to speak for another few days.

For some reason, the hospital was glad had a few visitors that day—namely the family and two friends Rip and Raoul—and fate seemed to have its reasons as to why she was put in a room for two.

Someone knocked at the door, and the nurse turned up.

"We have a patient that will need at room, and Dr. dela Rosa is his assigned doctor. There's no more in this hall and his office is nearby; we fear the patient will need his help from time to time." She glanced at Margo inquiringly.

"Of course." Dr. dela Rosa was her own doctor and it made sense. But when the patient was wheeled in, everyone tensed in shock, Margo more so.

It was none other than her golden grand tourer.

Her reaction was quick and loud: her pistons' rate increased every second, her eyes widening, before she closed her eyes, as if she were falling asleep, her pistons' rate turning dangerously slow.

"Oh, not her, too!" the doctor wailed, and got to work on her.

"Why? What—"

"Panic attack turned seizure. Her engine could shut down."

Everyone stood stock-still; the engine was the heart of the car!

But unconsciousness wasn't unwelcome, though their sleep was troubled.

Her yes fluttered open to see Raoul sleeping in front of her, backed up to the wall, having settled beside the door. She called his name and he woke.

"Ah, Margo!" he exclaimed, hurrying to her front. "You're awake!"

She blinked a few times. "What happened?" she asked groggily.

"The doctor says you 'ad a panic attack, and it turned into a seizure."

She nodded slowly, glancing around. 'Get-well-soon' flowers, balloons and stuffed bears lined the table nearby as gifts, and, oddly enough, the curtain next to her was drawn.

"Why's the curtain drawn?"

"Ah, er," he stammered, "there's a patient that roomed in with you."

She blinked. "Oh."

Unbeknownst to her, the car on the other side woke from his own uneasy sleep, and surveyed his surroundings. Nothing but yellow walls and what looked like a restroom. But there was a closed curtain; who could be on the other side, he wondered briefly.

He took a long, deep breath, sighing loudly. The pain in his heart was dulled, but only just. He remembered his own spat with Pearle before something had struck him, and struck him hard. Apparently, his depression affected more than just his mind.

Green eyes still lacking its happy luster, he proceeded to mope quietly, hoping to disappear in the sea of his sad reverie, but couldn't, for the voice he heard next to him was the most beautiful song in the world, and he matched it to only one name.

_Margarita Rodriguez-Stevenson._

He continued listening for a few more moments, letting the sound lift the burden in his heavy heart. It was only then that he heard another voice, one also very familiar.

"Raoul?" he whispered, not wanting to ruin an unexpected surprise.

But Margo knew the only people who knew Raoul, and there weren't many.

"Raoul?" she asked tremblingly. "Who's behind that curtain?"

Raoul only excused himself before turning to the other side. "What do you want?" he said tightly with gritted teeth, panic in his blue eyes and tone.

"Draw back the blind," Miguel whispered.

"You know I can't," Raoul hissed. "I was told not to!"

"Just draw it back," Miguel snarled.

"I—"

"I don't care," the grand tourer snapped. "Just draw it back!"

Raoul groaned slightly; his friend was always the dominant, insistent, persistent one. He returned to the A7.

"So? Who is it?" she prompted.

"Would you…prefer I draw back the blinds?" the DS3 queried.

"Why of course. How would I know who's next…door."

* * *

_Side note: Raoul is a **Citröen DS3** by research~ I'll correct it if anyone proves me wrong! xD_


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